


Scream 2, Take 2

by MeganRosenberg



Series: Scream 2: Megan Rosenberg's Re-Writes [1]
Category: Scream (Movies)
Genre: Attempted Murder, Canon-Typical Violence, F/M, Murder, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-21
Updated: 2018-07-21
Packaged: 2019-06-14 03:27:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 25
Words: 69,177
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15379650
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MeganRosenberg/pseuds/MeganRosenberg
Summary: Randy's younger sister is murdered on the two-year anniversary of the original Woodsboro murders, bringing Sidney, Randy, Gale, Dewey, and Cotton back to Woodsboro, where a masked killer waits. Heavy focus on Gale and Dewey after the first few chapters. (This is a sort of re-write of Scream 2)





	1. Horror

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote/published this story on fanfiction.net between 2011 and 2015. I feel I have grown better at writing since then, but I don't like to heavily edit my old stuff when I repost it, so you're receiving this story as it was originally published.
> 
> For a long time, this was my longest and one of my most popular fanfiction stories, so you might like it. I'm mostly publishing it here because I've written another Scream story that is very slightly a sequel to this one and I want this one posted here before I post the next one.

xxxxxx

Heather turned the water off in the shower, opened the shower curtain and grabbed the towel off the towel rack. Wrapping the towel around herself, she stepped out of the shower and made her way to the mirror. The room was full of steam; Heather always liked to take long hot showers, even though her mother always complained about her running up the water bill. Naturally, the room steamed up quickly, and the mirror was covered in fog.

She yawned. She had a long night ahead of her. Her parents had gone away for the weekend, for something like a second honeymoon, she thought. She wasn't quite sure. They always argued, so she assumed they were trying to salvage what little was left of their marriage. It didn't matter much to her at the moment, of course, because their being away meant she had the whole house to herself for the entire weekend. And that meant more than just not having parents around. It meant her friends could come over, and they could stay up all night, watching scary movies, playing loud music, singing, dancing, playing pranks on each other, and anything else they wanted, without any prudish forty-year old adults scowling at them or telling them to be quiet and go to bed. Heather wouldn't have to worry about her mother pleading for her to go to bed at 11:00 pm tonight. In fact, she'd probably barely sleep at all the whole weekend.

As she reached the mirror, still absorbed in thoughts of the excitement that lay before her, she reached up to wipe a circle out of the fog so that she could see her reflection. But before her hand touched the mirror, she stopped herself. Something was written in the fog. She squinted, unable to quite make it out without her glasses on. She moved her face closer to the mirror until she could make out the letters written there.

"TONITE, YOU DIE."

Heather could feel herself grow cold in a slight fear. No one was supposed to be at her house... Who could have written that? She looked around the bathroom. The door was closed, and she was the only person in the small room. How had someone gotten in to write the note without her hearing the door open and close? And why had they spelled "tonight" wrong?

She thought about locking the bathroom door and just staying in there until her friends arrived... but they weren't due for another hour. After all, the note was probably just a joke. Maybe one of her friends had written it there a different day and it was just now showing up... Bathroom mirror notes had a tendency to do that from time to time...

Holding her breath, Heather opened the bathroom door, slowly, and as quietly as she could manage. She had been watching the news before she'd hopped into the shower; the news was all about the Woodsboro murders. This week was the two year anniversary of the slayings. As she had showered, the image of the ghost mask the killers had worn had been on her mind. And of course she couldn't help but have the image on her mind even more so now.

She tip toed down the hall and into the main room by the front door. The door was closed, but unlocked. She never felt the need to lock the door during the day. Heather frowned as she considered this. Did the ghost-masked killer ever kill anyone during the day? She wasn't sure. Somehow the fact that it was day-time made her feel a bit more safe, but still not entirely so. She quickly locked the door, just in case. Although when she thought about it, it wouldn't really matter if the killer was already in the house. If it had indeed been a murderer who had written the message on the fogged up glass, she had just locked herself inside with him...

She was about to turn around in order to secure the rest of the house when a hand reached out from behind her and touched her arm. Heather screamed as fingers curled around her shoulder. She spun around, swinging her arm out, knocking the strange hand away from her as she prepared to knee whomever it was in the groin and run for her life.

"Heather!" a surprised and somewhat amused voice gasped. Heather's friend Kayla stood there, smirking, but looking a bit shocked. Kayla was a tall girl, a year older than Heather. Though she was older and taller, she behaved much more like a child than her other friends. Sometimes Heather found it frustrating, but at the end of the day, they were still great friends. Kayla took a step back toward Heather, looking like she might start laughing, "Don't kill me. Geeze. You look so freaked!"

"How long have you been here?" Heather asked, disappointed when she heard that her voice betrayed that she was out of breath from being so surprised, "I thought you weren't coming until seven..."

"We came early... We can leave and come back if you want," Kayla smirked.

Heather laughed, "Don't worry about it. I just wasn't expecting you. That's all... You really freaked me out..."

Kayla beamed, "you're so easy to scare!"

"Hey Heather," another voice chimed in. A small dark haired girl, walked into the room with a Dr. Pepper in her hand. This girl was Martha, who was Heather's age, "I told Kayla we should wait. It's so lame to arrive to a party an hour early."

"Well, it's not technically a party, Martha," Heather informed her. Then her eyes grew wide, "It's not a party, is it?" she glared at Kayla. "You didn't invite a bunch of people, did you?"

"Of course not!" Kayla defended herself.

"Yeah, I just said 'party' because I didn't know what else to call it," Martha smiled, "I wouldn't let Kayla invite a bunch of people."

Heather grinned, "great. I'm going to go get dressed. What movies did you rent?" She walked upstairs and into her bedroom, leaving the door half-open so she could hear Martha who read off the film titles.

"Halloween, IT, and My Girl," Martha called out.

"Ha!" Heather couldn't help but laugh, "that's an odd assortment..."

"You guys only want to watch scary stuff. Some of us like other things," Kayla commented, "My Girl is a really good movie."

"It's depressing," Heather commented, walking back into the room and pulling her t-shirt the rest of the way on. She was now dressed in pajama pants and a t-shirt, and had her glasses perched on top of her nose, "I can't believe you actually want to watch something so sad. The little boy dies, you know."

"Duh," Kayla said, "I've seen it before. You know, a lot of people die in the stupid movies you like too."

"But they're horror movies," Martha countered, "it's okay for people to die in horror movies. They barely even develop the characters. You can usually tell who will live and who will die just by watching the first bit. If a character doesn't get developed well, they probably won't live. If the character hasn't got a last name, or any name at all... goner."

Kayla rolled her eyes, "blah blah blah. Here we go again..."

"No, really! You can always tell who the extras are, and who the characters who matter are..." Martha continued, "I could go to a horror film opening night, and watch twenty minutes of it. Then I could tell you two things: A. who will make it to the end, and B. who the killer is. Guaranteed."

"If they are so predictable, then why do you watch them?" Kayla giggled.

"That's the fun in it! Plus, Halloween is different. You are supposed to know who the killer is. There's no guessing game there. It's a classic. And IT is the same way. There's no one trying to trick you into thinking someone is a killer, and then you see them get killed, so you know you were wrong, and feel stupid for being tricked... It's very straight-forward; you know what's going on... you just have to watch it happen," Martha explained.

"Ugg," Heather cut in, "Let's not have this conversation again... for the hundredth time... Just put in one of the movies. I'll order us a pizza."

Kayla popped My Girl into the VCR, as Martha groaned.

They watched My Girl, then sat around and talked for hours, played music and danced, found an old "TWISTER" game and played with it for a while, built a fort out of sheets, tables, pillows, and lamps, watched most of IT, and then finally all fell asleep on the sofas or floor.

...

When Martha woke up, the television was buzzing. The video had run to the end, and only static remained. She yawned and looked around the room. Heather and Kayla were nowhere to be seen. That seemed odd. It was 6:15 am according to the clock on the VCR. Why would they both be awake? For that matter, why would either of them be? Martha sat up and walked toward the bathroom, assuming at least one of her friends would be in that general area.

She flipped the light switch on and peered into the bathroom. No one was there.

"Heather? Kayla?" Martha called out, "where are you guys?"

She walked up to Heather's bedroom. Perhaps they had gotten tired of sleeping on the floor and on the sofa and had opted to share the bed. Flipping on the light, Martha looked around. The bedroom was vacant as well. She turned to leave the room, but stopped when the phone started to ring. She stared at the phone next to Heather's bed. Who would be calling so early? Martha paused. Was it really her place to answer it? What if it was Heather's parents calling to check up on her? She thought she had better answer, just in case.

She made her way over to the end table and plucked the phone up off the receiver, "hello?" she said. Then she thought she ought to explain herself further, "this is Martha."

"Hello, Martha," the voice on the other end of the line cooed, sounding a little rough. Martha shuddered. It reminded her of what she imagined the ghost-faced killer might have sounded like. She had heard lots of stories about what he sounded like. Being from Woodsboro, she of course heard about that killer all the time, as it was the small town's claim to fame.

"Are you calling for Heather?" Martha asked, assuming the voice belonged to her friend's father, "she's asleep... I think. Everything's fine."

"Is it really?" the voice asked, sounding like he was attempting some sort of sarcastic surprised, "Well, your definition of 'fine' is rather loose, wouldn't you say?"

Martha frowned, "what?" she asked, "what do you mean?"

"Well, you say Heather's fine, but you don't really know that. In fact... you don't really even know where she is, do you?" the voice responded, "maybe you shouldn't assume things when you really don't know what you're talking about. Don't assume your friend is fine after you search the house for her and cannot find her. It's six in the morning... and you must have been awake until four... She shouldn't have even woken up yet... and now she's not even in the house? where could she be? Why isn't she sleeping in the living room? And where's Kayla?"

Martha stood silently for a moment as the voice flowed eerily out of the phone. She wasn't sure what to say. Whomever was on the other line had just revealed that he knew a lot more than he should about what she and her friends had been doing all night. The only way someone could know all of that is if they had been watching her and her friends...

"Kayla?" Martha asked, hoping her older friend was playing some sort of joke, "is that you?"

The voice laughed, "do I sound like Kayla?"

Martha gulped and looked around the room, "who is this then? And were are Heather and Kayla?"

"I imagine Heather and Kayla will be found at a later date. There's no point in worrying about them anymore. You see, it's too late for them. You're lucky they went silently. You slept through it, so I didn't have to kill you as a witness... What I'd suggest you focus on now is yourself. Where are YOU, Martha, and where do you need to get to in order to ensure your fate isn't the same as your friends'?" the voice mocked, "I'm giving you an opportunity poor Kayla and Heather didn't have. You've got the opportunity to escape... but will you take it?"

Martha stood, shocked. This had to be a joke... but what if it wasn't? She held the phone up to her ear for a moment longer, but the rough voice didn't say anything else. Martha looked out the bedroom door. The house was still. She quietly hung up the phone and then dialed the police.

When the police responded on the other end of the line, she whispered quietly, just in case someone was in the house... just in case someone might hear her... "I just got a really scary phone call; someone saying my friends were dead... and I can't find them... he said he'd kill me too..." she was rambling, panicked, not sure what information she had already given, and what things she still needed to say, "I'm at my friend's house... Heather. He says she's dead... and my friend Kayla too. Heather's address... her parents aren't home... Williamson is her last name. They address is 24 Locust Street... Hurry... I'm really scared."

"24 Locust Street, Williamson residence," the operator repeated, "I'm sending officers right now, and an ambulance. Please stay on the line."

"I can't," Martha pleaded, "he said he's giving me a chance to escape... if I stay here, he'll kill me! I have to go!"

"Where are you dear? Within the house. What room are you in?" the woman on the other end of the line asked, "can you take the phone with you somewhere secure where you can hide until the police arrive? You could even just keep the phone turned on, and stay quiet, just so I'll be able to hear and know you're okay."

"I'm in the bedroom... but I think he's watching me. He knew what my friends and I were doing last night." Martha felt like she might cry. She hoped this was just a joke, but she really didn't think it was. If it was a joke, her friends would think she was so stupid. Yet she still hoped it was a joke, because if it wasn't her best friends were probably dead, and she'd probably be too if the police didn't hurry. "Are the police almost here?" she asked, hearing panic in her own voice.

"They are on their way, sweetheart," the woman responded, "just stay calm, and try to get to a place where no one can get to you. Have you seen anyone in the house?"

Martha shook her head. Then she remembered that the operator couldn't see her, "No," she said.

"Does the room you're in have a lock on the door?" the woman asked.

Martha checked. It did. She closed the door as quietly as possible and locked it. Now she felt a bit safer. "It does," she said, "I just locked it."

"Good. Now just hide somewhere in the room, and wait for the officers to arrive. If you can tell me how to get up to the room from the front door, I can radio the officers and tell them, so they'll be able to get to you as soon as possible," the woman offered.

"Okay," Martha agreed, still trying to whisper, and still very mindful of any noise within the house. She still didn't hear anything. She walked over to the closet, so she could hide inside it, "If you walk in the door and then turn right, the next room is the living room, with the tv and everything," she started, opening the closet door very slowly so as to make as least noise as possible, "there are stairs in that room, and they lead up to the second floor. If you go up them, and then turn left, there will be two doors... I think... The room I'm in is the second one... It says 'Heather's Room' on it. On the door, I mean."

"Very good. I'll have my co-worker relay that information to the officers. They should be there any minute," the woman told her, "just stay calm. Stay on the line, and stay quiet."

Martha nodded, even knowing that the woman couldn't see this gesture. Now that she gave all the information she could, she didn't really think she wanted to risk talking, because talking equals sound, and she didn't want to make any sort of sound.

She had the closet open just enough so that she could slip inside, when suddenly the door opened even further. Someone was in the closet... and they were opening it...

Martha shrieked, dropping the phone and attempting to pull the closet back closed. Whoever was inside was stronger than she, and pulled the door completely open. Martha screamed again, and turned to run toward the door, but was stopped when someone grabbed her from behind and threw her roughly against the wall, knocking all the air out of her lungs. She could hear the woman on the phone speaking worriedly, but she was nowhere near being able to reach the phone. The phone was nowhere near her top priority either. Martha scrambled toward the door as she coughed, trying to convince her lungs to start working again.

As she stumbled toward the door and finally grasped the door knob, she felt hands grab her again, pulling her away from the door handle, dragging her roughly down onto her back, and pinning her to the floor.

"No! Please let me go!" she pleaded, "I didn't do anything to you! Why are you doing this!" She was panicked, yelling out every plea she could think of. When she looked up at her assailant, she saw something haunting: a white ghost mask... And in the hand of the masked figure was a shiny knife, already stained crimson with someone else's blood. Martha sobbed. Kayla and Heather were surely dead. Their blood already soaked the knife... and hers was soon to follow.

"I gave you the chance to escape," the masked-man reminded her, "why didn't you take it?"

Martha shuddered, trying to wriggle free from his grasp, "please," she begged, tears streaming down her face, "please let me go..."

"I'd love to, really," the masked figure's artificially rough voice informed her, "but you're a very important part of my plan."

Martha frowned, staring up into the mask's eyes, trying desperately to see something there, to be able to see this figure as a human with whom she could reason, "what are you talking about?" she sobbed, "what plan? Why me?"

"You're the bait," the voice told her.

Martha was still confused, "bait? For who?"

"I needed some way to reunite the Woodsboro gang. You're the key," he told her, raising the knife in the air. The moonlight shone on the knife, making it shine a silver and scarlet colour. The blood on the knife was fresh enough to still look glossy and sticky.

"Please..." Martha begged, "I still don't understand... just let me go, please. Please," she didn't know what else to say.

As she looked at the knife which was still held up, ready to end her short life, she noticed a third colour added to the red and silver shine. Blue. The blue from the light of a police siren. Martha's eyes widened, "HELP!" she screamed, "Help me! Please! I'm upstairs! Help!"

The masked figure shook his head, "I'll make this quick," he promised, plunging the knife down as Martha continued screaming.

"Ahhh!" she gasped in pain, "Help..." she screamed again as pain radiated through her abdomen. She could feel a flood of warm, sticky blood flowing out of the slash the knife had created in her body. She didn't feel she had much hope, but she knew she couldn't stop fighting, so she continued to call out for help. Her screams weren't as loud as they had been, and she couldn't make them any louder, no matter how hard she tried, "help! help... h-" she coughed as her breaths were unable to keep up with her screams, "help..." She sobbed, knowing she was growing more and more hopeless by the second.

The knife plunged into her stomach again. She felt blood gush out of her, pooling beneath her and soaking her shirt. The knife rose up again, and then plunged down one last time, this time going straight into her heart. And within seconds, all her pain was gone, and she knew no more...

xxxxxx


	2. Despair

xxxxxx

The worst part of the day for Randy Meeks was getting over the hurdle of convincing himself to get out of bed. When that alarm clock went off every morning, he always faced an epic battle in convincing himself to shut it off and get up instead of just hitting the snooze button over and over again. When he was tired, it was very easy for him to think the most logical thing to do would be to sleep for five more minutes, as though these five minutes would magically make him not tired anymore...

Randy groaned and rolled over in bed as his alarm sounded. Wasn't today Saturday? Why was his alarm going off? Sighing, he rolled back toward the alarm and stretched his arm out to the clock, slamming his hand down on top of it. He thought he had hit the snooze button, but the alarm continued blaring. So he slammed his hand down harder. The sound still didn't cease. Randy made an irritated sound, almost a growl, slamming his hand onto the snooze button violently a couple more times. When the sound still didn't stop, he jerked himself into a sitting position, grabbed the alarm clock and stared at it.

"Shut up!" he yelled, shaking the clock as if trying to scare it into submission. He stared at it some more, noticing the time, 9:19 am. As he held the clock and became a bit more awake, his confusion began to fade, and he realized the clock wasn't the source of the noise at all. It was in fact the room's phone. The phone was on the table across the room, closer to his roommate's bed than to his. They shared the phone, of course, being roommates and all. Randy looked over to his roommate's bed. Empty. No wonder. His roommate was always out partying and picking up girls. Sometimes he'd go an entire week without seeing the guy.

As Randy's mind started working again, as his body became fully awake, he decided answering the phone might be a good idea. Obviously his roommate wasn't going to answer it, and for someone to be calling at a time which Randy considered to be very early, it very well could be something important.

He shuffled over to the phone, almost tripping over his own feet as he did so, still not quite ready to be awake. It was way too early to wake up, considering it was Saturday... Maybe he hadn't been out partying all night like his roommate, but he had stayed up late nonetheless... watching scary movies, and he had only gone to sleep after 3:00 am. He thought he'd be able to sleep in until at least noon...

Yawning, he grabbed up the phone and held it to his ear "Hello?" he mumbled. He just had to see what this person wanted, and then he could go back to sleep for a few hours.

"Randy?" a traumatized-sounding voice cried into the phone.

"Mom?" Randy was instantly completely awake. His mother's voice sounded very worried. He knew sometimes she would get worried over nothing, like if she hadn't heard from him in a few days, or if she heard of anything illegal going on anywhere near the college... But the tone of her voice now wasn't a result of some trivial concern this time; Randy could just tell... She still hadn't said anything more, "Mom!" he raised his voice, "have you been crying? What's wrong?"

All he heard in response was his mother's sobbing.

"Mom... What's wrong?" Randy asked again, his voice sounding much more demanding this time. His worry was increasing exponentially by the second.

She continued crying, sounding like she was trying to speak, but every time she almost formed a word, she broke into sobbing again.

"Come on, mom... You're really freaking me out..." Randy pleaded, "just tell me what's wrong... Did something happen to dad? Are you and Martha okay? Just tell me what's wrong! Should I come home? You have to tell me. I'm really worried here."

His mother remained silent. All he could hear was muffled sniffing noises, as if she was trying to keep herself from crying anymore.

"Mom..." Randy's voice betrayed his concern, "just calm down. Take a deep breath. And tell me what happened. You've got to tell me what's going on... Please, mom."

"It's -" his mother tried, sobbing again, "It's your sister..." she started sobbing uncontrollably again.

"What..." Randy's blood felt cold, "what happened?" he squeaked, his voice sounding tiny and terrified, "Is she okay?"

His mother continued sobbing. He heard his father saying something in the background.

"Hand me the phone, dear. I can tell him," his father's soft voice told the sobbing woman.

Randy prayed silently. Every second of this conversation made him feel more and more terrified. Whatever had happened had his mother in tears. She was so hysterical that she couldn't even bear to explain the situation to him. At this point, he was assuming the worst, but at the same time, he hoped so desperately that he was wrong, that his mother was over-reacting to something small, like Martha breaking her wrist or getting caught drinking underage at a party...

"Randy, it's your dad," his father's voice took over on the phone.

Randy sighed, "Yeah," he was getting impatient, "just tell me what's going on, dad. Is Martha okay?"

"There's no easy way to tell you this, son," his father began. Randy could hear in his voice that he had been crying recently too, which wasn't something his father often did. His father was a man who kept his composure under even the most stressful situations. The fact that he sounded like he had been crying made Randy almost certain that whatever the man was about to tell him was going to be devastating. Randy could guess what his father was going to say, but even as he said it, Randy's blood ran cold, "Randy... Martha was killed last night..." his father managed to say, his voice nearly breaking.

Randy was speechless. He had assumed as much, but he was still completely shocked. What could he say now? What could he do? How could he make this right? How could he undo this? "Are you sure?" he whispered, without even thinking, "what happened? Are you sure it's her? Are you absolutely certain?"

His father paused for a moment, "We're sure, Randy." he answered.

"I'm coming home right now," Randy informed his father.

"Son, why don't you take a bit to calm down first. I don't want you driving while you're upset," his father suggested.

Randy's breathing had become erratic at some point, which he just now noticed, "upset! What... When... What, do you think I'll just stop being upset if I wait an hour?" He felt so panicked. He didn't know what to say or do, "What do I do? Should I just sit here and wait? What do I do, dad! I have to come home. At least that way I'd be driving... I'd be doing something instead of just sitting here thinking..."

"Could you have someone drive you then?" his father asked, "please?" he sounded like he might cry.

Randy let out a pitiful whimper, "I'll ask around..."

"I don't want to lose you too, son," his father whispered, "driving while you're upset is the last thing you should do right now. It won't help anything."

Randy felt his lower lip quiver. This had to be a nightmare, "dad... what happened? How did she die? When you said she was 'killed,' did you mean, in an accident? A car accident or something? What happened...?"

"Randy... She was murdered," his dad managed to tell him, sounding very stressed as he did so, "stabbed."

Randy's eyes grew wide. He of course was well aware of what event's anniversary was in progress this week... He didn't think this was a coincidence... But he certainly hoped it was only that. He didn't feel the need to bring it up to his dad right now though.

"Randy," his dad's voice hesitantly continued, "are you okay?" he paused again, "should I drive up there and pick you up?"

Randy shook his head, "No... no, dad... It's okay." He insisted, "I'll uh... I'll ask Sid to drive me. It's the weekend, and it's not a long drive... I'm sure she won't mind. Just... you stay there with mom. I'll be home in a couple hours, maximum. Just stay there..."

"Make sure you and Sidney drive carefully," Randy's father added.

"See you soon..." Randy said, not really knowing what else to say, "I love you dad," he added.

"I love you too, Randy. I'll see you soon."

With that, both parties hung up their phones.

Randy stared at the phone after he hung it up. He needed to ask Sidney to drive him home... but should he call her or just go find her and ask? He didn't want to do either right now. For the moment, he just wanted to lay down on the floor, or crawl under his bed and just cry. His baby sister was only fourteen years old... How could someone kill her? Two years ago, Billy and Stu had killed their classmates mostly, seventeen and eighteen year olds... nearly adults. How could someone kill a fourteen year old girl? Unless... maybe it was someone from Woodsboro High... Maybe someone was setting out to copy Billy and Stu, and it had nothing to do with himself or Sidney... Or perhaps it was just some murderer who had nothing to do with anything Randy was aware of.

Closing his eyes, Randy leaned his back against the wall and slid down until he was sitting on the floor. He wanted so much to just disappear right now, to just not exist at all so that he wouldn't ever have to deal with this. He would give anything to hear his alarm clock right now, and to be woken up out of this nightmare. Maybe his dad was lying. Maybe his parents just wanted him to come back home from college. Maybe they just knew he wouldn't come home any other way... He realized he was being irrational, but he didn't know what else to do. He could't just accept this. It was one thing when his classmates were killed two years before... but they were his age... and he wasn't protective of them... Martha was his little sister. He was supposed to protect her. He was supposed to do anything and everything to ensure something like this would never happen.

Randy could feel tears rolling down his cheeks. He didn't know what to think, what to say, or what to do. All he could think of was "what should I do? What should I do?" He repeated it in his head over and over. He honestly didn't know what to do. He needed to get home, but what about after that? What should he do? What should he think about? How could he just erase all of this and disappear?

As much as he wanted to stay hidden in his room and continue denying all of this, he knew he needed to get moving soon, to find Sidney, get a ride back to Woodsboro, and discuss this whole mess with her. He had promised his father he'd be home in a few hours. He had to face this sooner or later. His continuing denial would only make Martha's death harder on the rest of his family.

Trying to keep his composure, Randy exited his dorm room, averting his eyes from everyone he saw, and hoping no one would try to talk to him. Faking a casual conversation was the last thing he wanted to do right now, and talking to anyone other than Sidney about this was the other last thing he wanted to do. Best case scenario, he'd make it to Sid's dorm without seeing anyone at all. Human contact was not preferable. Not now.

Fortunately, Sidney's residence hall was near his, so he didn't have to walk all the way across campus. It was Saturday morning, so she was likely still asleep in her dorm, which would mean Randy wouldn't have to take too much effort in finding her.

He entered the hall, an all-female dormitory building, and walked up to the front desk. They wouldn't just let guys go up to the floors where the rooms were, so he had to check in with the receptionist... if that's what you'd call her.

Clearing his throat, he spoke to the young woman at the desk, "I need to speak with Sidney Prescott." he said, hearing his voice waver slightly, "please," he added.

The woman nodded, "I remember you," she said, "you visited her earlier this week, right?"

Randy nodded. This woman was very cheerful, and he wasn't really in the mood to chat with her, "yep," he spoke, trying to speed this up.

She nodded, "I can ring her room for you if you'd like, to see if she's in."

Randy nodded again, "that would great."

He waited as the receptionist got in contact with Sid's room, talked to her or her room-mate, and then hung up. "She'll be down in just a minute," she smiled, "you can have a seat over there in the lobby."

Randy sulked over to the lobby and sank down onto the sofa there. The wait seemed like forever, but eventually, Sidney walked into the lobby, smiling at first, but instantly frowning when she saw Randy's demeanor. Sidney, Randy's best friend in the world, could tell something bad had happened.

She didn't have to ask him what was wrong. Her concerned expression asked without her even saying anything. Randy knew he'd have to tell her; he knew she'd be able to tell something was wrong. She knew him better than anyone did, so he knew he wouldn't be able to hide it from her for long, if even at all. Plus, considering that it was the anniversary of their near-deaths, she had a right to know some sort of copy-cat may be at large. He had to tell her eventually, and now seemed as good a time as any, so he just said it.

"Sid," he began, staring right into her eyes. She looked right back at his, without averting her eyes or blinking. Neither of them flinched, "Martha's been stabbed... to death. She was killed last night... or this morning... I don't know really..."

Sidney gasped, "Oh my god!" her eyes were wide with shock and for a moment she just stared at him, clearly at a loss for words, "Randy..." She finally said. She stared at him, shaking her head as though completely unsure of what she should say or do. Moving toward him and wrapping her arms around him, she said the phrase almost anyone says when their friend has had a family member die and they can't think of words to express their sympathy and empathy, "I'm so sorry."

Randy stood still as Sidney hugged him. He didn't hug her back. Ordinarily a hug from Sidney would be the greatest joy for him. He'd hug her back and be so pleased she was paying any physical attention to him, because he still sort of had a crush on her... But at the moment, the hug was a "just friends" hug, even to him. He read no more into it than he usually would have.

Sidney broke her embrace and took a step back, putting her hands on Randy's upper arms and looking into his eyes again, "Are you going back home? Do you need a ride? I don't think you should drive yourself, all alone."

Randy could see in her eyes that she had tons of questions. She probably wanted to ask if they knew who killed her, if it could be related to what happened two years ago, where the murder took place... but he also knew she wouldn't ask these questions, no matter how much she wanted to, out of respect for his sister, who Sidney had met and talked with several times in the past. Martha was sort of a friend of Sidney's. Sidney was probably more of a role model to his sister than a friend, but they liked each other, so he called it friendship.

"Do you need a ride home, Randy?" Sidney asked, "Is there anything I can do to help you?"

Apparently Randy had forgotten to speak in the past couple of minutes, because Sidney was looking at him with a very worried expression on her face, and was beginning to repeat things she had already said, as though perhaps Randy hadn't heard them the first time.

"Yeah," he finally said, shaking himself out of his thoughts, "A ride home would be great."

Sidney nodded. She looked a bit unsure of what step to take next as she sighed and looked at Randy and then down at herself, "Uh... could you give me a couple minutes?" she asked, "I need to get dressed... I'm wearing pajamas," she laughed nervously.

Randy nodded, "I'm in no hurry," he told her.

"I'll be down in a minute..." Sidney told him, turning to leave. Then she turned back, "do you want to come up? You can sit in my room, and I can change in the bathroom... My roomate isn't in. That way you won't have to wait down here..."

"It's fine, Sid. I can wait here," Randy told her.

Sidney nodded, "Um... Okay... I'll see you then. In a minute. In a few minutes, I mean," she still seemed nervous, "I'll be right back."

"Take your time," Randy called after her, smiling a forced smile when she turned back and glanced at him one last time before going back upstairs. She forced a smile back to him as well.

Randy sighed and leaned back on the couch he had been sitting on before. He hoped Sidney really did take her sweet time, because he was really dreading arriving back at home. Once he was home again, Martha's death would become a reality. At least here, everyone was acting normal (except Sidney) and no one knew the personal hell he was in. Once at home, everyone around him would remind him of his sister's passing every time they saw him, not to be mean or anything, but just because that's what people do. Each "I'm so sorry for your loss" would be a reminder that this wasn't a dream. In a few short hours, this would be become real.

xxxxxx


	3. Woodsboro

xxxxxx

Sidney had driven Randy home to Woodsboro in about an hour and a half. Their college wasn't far from their hometown, so it didn't take long to drive from one location to the next, although she could tell Randy wished the distance was longer. It was obvious to her that he was dreading meeting up with his family. She understood this feeling, and could respect why he felt that way. However, though she had dealt with deaths more than anyone she knew, she also knew she couldn't claim to understand what Randy was going through, because she never had a younger sister, and so couldn't possibly understand how he felt. The death of her mother and of her friends was a different situation all together. One wasn't worse than the other, but they definitely weren't interchangeable.

Along the way, there was much time they spent in silence. Fortunately for both of them, they were good enough friends that the silence wasn't an uncomfortable one. Randy had told her that he suspected the murder of his sister may have something to do with the two year anniversary of the slew of murders committed by Billy and Stu. While she sincerely hoped this wasn't the case, she couldn't help but suspect the same as Randy, that his sister's death was no coincidence. It wasn't some random murder that just so happened to occur exactly two years after Billy's and Stu's murders, and just so happened to be the sister of one of the only survivours of those attacks.

Randy seemed extremely nervous when they arrived back in Woodsboro, so Sidney had gone inside his house with him to support him. Woodsboro was a small town; everyone knew everyone else, so Randy's parents immediately recognized her and thanked her for driving their son home. She gave her condolences to his parents and then went on her way. She didn't feel she really belonged with Randy's immediate family at the moment, and in no way wanted to impose. She'd attend the funeral, of course, and always be there for Randy to talk to in the future, but she figured the family probably didn't want everyone over just yet, but instead only each other, so she kept her condolence short and went off to explore her childhood town.

Parking her car in a nearly empty parking lot, Sidney stepped out and looked around the town. It was so eerily quiet. People were probably on edge due to Martha's murder. Everyone in the town knew everyone else's business. Sometimes your neighbour would know something that happened in your family before you even did yourself, so by now, everyone was surely well aware of what had happened, and were sort of reluctant to leave the safety of their houses. Woodsboro hardly ever made the news. Nothing ever happened there, so when something did (especially something as big as a murder) everyone knew about it, and everyone was worried, understandably.

Sidney hadn't any plans, and didn't want to go back to college just yet, as she knew she needed to stay for Martha's funeral, and to be supportive of her friend, so she decided to have a walk around town. As she walked down a seemingly deserted street, she looked at the houses and shops that were all so familiar. Woodsboro hadn't changed at all since she went away.

She walked down the same sidewalk she often had walked down with Tatum, her best friend from high school. Her friend who was murdered two years ago. Without realizing it, she noticed she was walking toward Tatum's house, out of habit most likely. Except Tatum wouldn't be there...

"Sidney!" she heard someone calling her name. The voice sounded familiar, and not in a comforting way. In fact, it made her feel a bit dreadful.

She turned toward the voice. The moment she saw who had called her name, she wanted to run and hide, or to pretend she hadn't seen or heard him. But she had looked directly at him, so it was a little late for any of that now.

He walked toward her, smiling, for some reason. Sidney did not return the gesture. She could have walked toward him as well, so he wouldn't have to walk as far to reach her. Instead, she just stayed put, dreading what conversation lay ahead of her. She even considered turning and leaving, but she didn't want to be rude.

"Sidney!" he exclaimed as he walked right up to her.

He was a bit tall compared to her, and it made her slightly nervous, especially considering they were the only two people on the street at the moment. She wondered if he might be responsible for murdering Martha. She looked around nervously, hoping to see other people walking about, just in case. If Cotton wanted to try something, now would be a good time for him, because no one would even be there to witness his actions...

"Cotton..." she responded, taking a step back, "What... Um... What are you doing here?"

"I live here, silly," he grinned, stepping forward to close the gap Sidney had just created between them, "Woodsboro is oddly forgiving... Not that I ever did anything to warrant anger in the first place... I mean..." he was looking a bit nervous now, as though he was digging his own grave but didn't know how to stop digging it even deeper, "Well, they thought... They forgave me for something I never did in the first place... Some people would still hold a grudge, right? Just because of how they felt about me before, even after they were proven wrong... But not Woodsboro. Most people welcomed me back with open arms. Forgiveness, of a sort... It's complicated..."

Sidney frowned, "Listen... I've got to go..." she turned to walk around him.

"Wait! What's the rush?" Cotton stepped in her way so she couldn't get around him without stepping out into the road.

No cars were coming, so she stepped into the road anyway, "I just have somewhere I need to be," she lied, "I... uh... said I'd visit Dewey... at the police station." She hoped the mention of the police would scare him off.

"Well, can't we talk for a minute?" he asked, "I haven't really talked to you ever since... Well... you know..."

Sidney shook her head, "what's there to talk about?" She kept walking, as he followed her down the sidewalk.

"Just wait a minute," he continued, "I just want to know that we're okay. I want to know that you're not holding an unfair grudge... and I think you owe me an apology... I'm not angry with you or anything... You had reasons to accuse me... You didn't have any crazy plot against me... it was an honest mistake on your part. Could have happened to anybody, but you need to admit you were wrong."

"Yeah. I was wrong, Cotton," she said as she quickened her pace, completely avoiding eye-contact, "I'm sorry. I told you that already. What more can I do? I can't turn back time. I can't undo anything that happened. If I could, I would; trust me. You're just going to have to move on. I could apologize a hundred times, and it won't undo what you went through. What more do you want from me?"

"You're still mad at me, Sid," he told her, "I can tell. But you've got no reason to hate me. I can see you are holding onto resentment that you had for me before, that I never deserved in the first place!"

She sighed and kept walking. Maybe she did still sort of resent him, but he wasn't making it any better by following her when she clearly told him to back off. He was right behind her, and was not backing down. Finally, he gently grabbed her arm and spun her around. The gesture wasn't violent, but the fact that he had touched her at all kind of made her defensive, "Don't touch me!" she growled at him, slapping his hand away from her arm.

With that, he stopped dead in his tracks, as Sidney stared at him for a moment. He looked shocked, as though she had just slapped him for no reason. He didn't move toward her again. Apparently he now recognized that she wasn't going to stand for it. At least he was taking her seriously.

"I'm sorry Cotton," she said again, very calmly, "that's all I can do. And if I still hold anger toward you, I'll try to let it go. You have to understand that for a long time, I thought you had raped and murdered my mother... Hatred that strong doesn't just vanish, even when I did realize I was wrong. I know you didn't do it now, but I can't help but still have that bit of a feeling... I'm working on it; I really am... and in time, perhaps we'll be able to talk..."

"Oh," Cotton looked hurt, "It's too soon then..." he said.

Sidney nodded, "I'm really sorry... I just can't..."

He nodded, "I completely understand... I guess I'm just glad you're in the process of forgiving me... for something I didn't even do..."

Sidney sighed and rolled her eyes as she turned to leave. She police station was in view now, so she wouldn't have much longer to walk now.

"See ya, Sid," Cotton said from behind her, his voice carrying a mocking tone. She could hear in the volume of his voice that he was no longer following her. She could tell he had remained at the spot where they had stopped while she walked onward.

Ignoring him, she thought to herself. She hadn't really planned on visiting Dewey, but since she was here, and had nothing else to do (and wanted to get out of Cotton Weary's line of vision) she thought she might as well drop in, just to see if he was even there...

xxxxxx

Gale walked next to Dewey. He seemed a bit angry with her, but that was nothing new. After the incident in Woodsboro two years earlier, the incident that had almost cost them both their lives, they had dated for a while. She was really taken with him. He was handsome, and had an adorable way about him where he acted like a confused child sometimes. She couldn't say he was immature or stupid really, just a bit boy-ish, perhaps.

She knew he was in love with her too, which was probably why he was so hurt when she didn't want to stay in Woodsboro with him. She just couldn't stand how slow paced the town was. She had even offered to let him move in with her in the city, but he didn't want to leave the town he called 'home.' She didn't think she was being any more selfish than he was... Why should she move here to boring Woodsboro when he wouldn't move to the city with her? Someone would have to make the sacrifice of moving to where they didn't want to live... why would it have to be her?

They hadn't really talked in a while, but the recent murder coupled with the two year anniversary of the Woodsboro murders had brought her back to the small town. While she was here for business, she also had a desire to reconnect with Dewey. She knew she couldn't bear to never talk to him again.

"Admit it," Dewey said, frowning down at her, "the only reason you're here is because you want your news story."

Gale looked at him as though he was an idiot, without even meaning to, "well... yeah... I'm a reporter, Dewey. I'm doing my job. Just like you're doing yours... But you'd be stupid to pretend that you and I have nothing between us. The news may have brought me to Woodsboro, but I had no obligation to seek you out. That has nothing to do with the news... I sought you out because I wanted to, not because I had to for my job... I genuinely wanted to see you." That part was very true. She really had missed him, and really wanted their relationship to work. They were both attached to a certain life style though, and these life styles happened to clash.

Dewey looked at her thoughtfully, "You promise you're not just using me to get information?" he looked so sad.

"I'm not using you, Dewey," she promised, "I haven't even asked you anything, right?"

He nodded, "I suppose that's true."

"Though I might be helpful to your investigation... considering I studied the original murders, reported on them, and almost became one of the victims," She added, "If the cops need any insight, I may be able to help out."

"Original murders?" Dewey asked, frowning again, "What makes you think Martha's murder is related to the others?"

"This is Woodsboro, Dewey," she said plainly, "not Chicago... People don't just randomly get murdered here."

Dewey narrowed his eyes, "maybe the sheriff really could use you in the investigation..." he suggested, "but if he okays it... you'll have to promise to keep it to yourself... Anything he says is for police use only... not for the world to know."

Gale nodded, "of course," she told him. She desperately wanted information in order to make her news story better than any of the others, but she also didn't want to betray Dewey. She'd have to think of some way around it...

Dewey walked up the steps of the police station, limping slightly. Gale frowned and followed him. She was so glad he hadn't died when he was stabbed. She had felt certain he was dead that night, but hadn't any time to cry over it at the time. When she learned he had lived, she had felt like the luckiest woman in the world. Though they were both lucky to be alive, Gale still felt sadness when she saw Dewey limping as he walked, all because some stupid high school kid wanted revenge. Dewey shouldn't have even been involved in the idiotic high school revenge scheme. He was barely even a real cop yet. The other police really shouldn't have even put him on the case.

She shook her head slightly, ridding these thoughts from her mind. There was no use being upset over what was already done.

Dewey, ever the gentlemen, opened the door and waited for Gale to go inside first. She thanked him and walked into the lobby.

"Gale?" she heard her before she saw her, but her voice was unmistakable.

"Sidney!" Gale replied, laying eyes on the young woman who was sitting in a sort of waiting area.

"Sid!" Dewey rushed passed Gale and gave Sidney a huge hug, "It's so nice to see you again!"

"Yeah," Sidney agreed, "I wish the circumstances of my return could be anything else than what they are though," she frowned.

Gale nodded to herself, piecing this together in her head. Sidney, of course, had returned because the murdered girl was the sister of her friend, Randy. She wondered how she could fit this all into her news story. She wondered if Randy's family would be willing to be interviewed if she waited a few days. Would Sidney ever agree to it? Probably not. So many gems lay right in front of her. Her news report had the potential to be gold, except her gems were very reluctant to participate...

Sidney and Dewey continued talking, while Gale felt a bit like a third wheel. She wasn't sure if Sidney still hated her or not.

"Gale," she heard Sidney saying her name.

Gale looked up and smiled, "Hey, Sidney," she said timidly. Sidney had no new reason to be angry with her, so she hoped they were going to be on good terms for the moment, but she still wasn't 100% sure Sidney would feel the same way.

To Gale's surprised, Sidney walked up to her and embraced her lightly. Gale moved her arms up and hugged her back, very unsure of what what going on.

"It's really nice to see you again too, Gale," Sidney said to her, seemingly genuinely.

Gale nodded slowly. Was Sidney being sarcastic? "You too..." she agreed.

"I mean it Gale," Sidney continued, "I really appreciate what you did a couple years ago... You know, when you came back to the house. I would have surely been killed if you hadn't... You didn't have to come back, but you did. You may think you haven't got empathy for others... Others may think that about you too, but I know you do."

Dewey smiled at her, a kind of cocky 'I-told-you-so' sort of smile. It kind of made her sick. She did care about people, of course... but it wasn't her trademark or anything... What she cared about most was getting a juicier story than anyone else. She wouldn't risk people's lives to get it, of course, but she certainly wasn't afraid to step on people's feelings. She knew she wasn't always the nicest person, and she knew people hated her for it... but that's just who she was. Dewey and Sidney could pretend she was a kind hero, but she knew for a fact she wasn't either of those things.

"I didn't even know how to use the gun," she commented, "I had the safety on... So I didn't really save anyone..."

"Gale," Dewey shook his head, "you know very well you distracted them just long enough for Sid to get away. You didn't execute your plan perfectly, but you saved Sid, and you know it."

Gale sighed and shrugged. She didn't like getting more credit than she deserved. Not for acts of kindness anyway. She loved getting credit for having the best reporting skills, getting tons of fame for her work, but since she never felt like a compassionate person, when people accused her of being a hero, it made her feel guilty.

The three of them looked at one of the office doors as it opened, revealing the town's Sheriff, Sheriff Jones, a man in his early forties, "Dwight," the sheriff began, "Let's go over what we've got on the Meeks case."

Sidney looked up at Dewey, "I guess I should go," she told him.

"You could probably stay... you might be able to help..." Dewey suggested.

"Dwight," the sheriff's voice sounded stern, "there's no reason she would need to be questioned... This case doesn't involve her... If we find we need to ask her anything later for any reason, we'll do so then... She's a civilian, so shouldn't be present when we discuss these details."

Dewey nodded, "right," he said, sounding a bit embarrassed. He looked at Sidney, "Sorry, Sid."

"No problem, Dewey," she smiled slightly, "He's right. There's no reason I need to be here." Sidney looked at Dewey and then at Gale, "It was nice seeing you both again," she said, "I'll see you around." With that, she turned and exited the station.

Gale remained silent. She was certain the sheriff would kick her out too, but maybe if she didn't say anything, just acted as though she belonged, he wouldn't object to her being there.

"You too, Miss Weathers," the sheriff sighed.

"But I-" Gale began, but was interrupted.

"You and I both know you don't have a good reputation for keeping things off-record," the sheriff complained, "and besides, this case has nothing to do with you. You aren't a cop. We don't need you here, and you don't need to be here. Find your story elsewhere."

Dewey looked at her apologetically and followed the sheriff into his office. The door closed behind them.

Gale sighed and frowned to herself. No one else was in the lobby. She wondered if a receptionist or someone should be there. Woodsboro sometimes seemed way too relaxed. She was just about to leave when she heard someone talking... She looked around the quiet lobby. No one other than she was there. Because the voice wasn't coming from the lobby... It was coming from inside the office where Dewey and the sheriff were talking.

Gale grinned. She walked over to the door and listened closely. As it turned out, walls in Woodsboro were quite thin... Perhaps she'd get her news story after all. And this time, she wouldn't have to feel guilty about betraying anyone's secrets, because they had refused to tell her anyway... They wouldn't let her in on their case, then she'd get in on it on her own, and do whatever she wanted with the information she obtained...

xxxxxx


	4. Reporting from Woodsboro

xxxxxx

Gale was dressed in a white sleeveless top, a black mini skirt with two small pockets, one on each hip, and black heels which increased her height by at least three inches. Her hair was brushed nicely, and her makeup was done with perfect precision. She held the microphone up and began to speak:

"This is Gale Weathers, reporting from Woodsboro, a town virtually unheard of until two years ago. Since the infamous Woodsboro murders, this calm, quiet, little town has finally made it onto the map. This week marks the two year anniversary of the murders committed by two high school students, largely consisting of their own peers. While the town has not forgotten this brutal massacre, today the town mourns the loss of another student.

"Early this morning, a young girl was murdered, in a similar fashion to the murders which occurred two years ago. Fourteen year old Martha Meeks, sister of Randy Meeks, whose life was almost claimed in the initial murders, was stabbed to death during a sleep over party at the house of her friend, fourteen year old Heather Williamson. Also at the party was a third girl, fifteen year old Kayla Kelleher. According to an anonymous source, neither Heather Williamson nor Kayla Kelleher have been found. Blood of both girls was discovered at the crime scene, but both remain missing. The amount of blood found suggests that either or both of the girls could possibly still be alive. Their blood loss would have been tremendous, but not necessarily fatal.

"But if they are in fact still alive, where are they? Police think they may be being held captive somewhere, or could have been killed, their bodies disposed of in a yet to be known location. But what may seem more chilling is the possibility that both of these girls could be being treated as suspects. We must remember that two years ago, it was two high school boys who were responsible for numerous brutal slayings. It isn't beyond reason to consider that this time, it may be two high school girls trying to repeat Woodsboro's minute of spotlight.

"As police continue to investigate the murder of Martha Meeks and the disappearance of her two friends, everyone questions whether these recent events relate to the murders of two years ago. Could this be a copy-cat killer? A local 911 operator says 'definitely.' In a few minutes, I'll interview one Bethany Grace, who answered the desperate call from young Martha Meeks, but first, we'll hear the audio recording of that phone call."

Dewey winced as he watched Gale's news report. At this point, the audio clip played. The sheriff had a copy of it, but apparently Gale had gotten a copy elsewhere. He was astonished that the 911 operator was sharing so much information with the reporter. Had Gale bribed her perhaps? The operator would probably lose her job over this.

She had promised not to share any of this information with the world... Dewey felt very betrayed. If he had told her information, even though she promised not to, she surely would have shared it with the public. He had assumed her promise would extend to any police information she obtained, even if she did obtain it through eavesdropping, which was almost certainly the case.

Hearing Martha's terrified voice on the recording made Dewey feel sick. Gale, and the 911 operator, had no right to share the tape with the public. How would the girl's family respond to this? Personally, Dewey knew he would be beyond furious if the dying pleas of his baby sister Tatum had been recorded and publicized on the news. Gale really needed to learn to be more sensitive. Good reporting meant more than just getting the most juicy material. It also meant respecting those innocent civilians who were unfortunately involved in the news.

As the audio clip concluded, Gale resumed speaking.

"According to the tape, the killer chose Martha specifically to lure back the quote 'Woodsboro gang.' One can only assume that whoever is responsible for murdering the young girl wants original survivors from the Woodsboro massacre to return to the town."

Gale turned toward a tall woman who was standing next to her on camera, "I'm here with Miss Bethany Grace, the operator who answered Martha's 911 call. Miss Grace, please describe-"

Dewey turned the television off, shaking his head. How could Gale do this? He couldn't understand her. Was getting her news story really so important to her that she would disrespect the family members of a recently murdered girl? How could she possibly think this was fair? Plus, the information she stole from the Sheriff wasn't meant for the public. Now Heather and Kayla's families would be furious as well, and would it be Gale who'd have to answer to them? No. It would be the police. Heather's and Kayla's families weren't meant to know that their daughters were suspects...

As Dewey considered what he should do, his phone rang. He had considered calling Gale, but maybe she was calling him instead. If she were, she'd probably regret it, because he was going to give her a piece of his mind.

"Gale?" he answered, hoping it was her. His phone didn't have caller-ID, so he couldn't know who it was before actually speaking with them.

"No, why?" an angry voice responded, "I see you've been talking to her a lot lately," the voice growled.

"Sheriff Jones," Dewey sighed, "I didn't tell her anything. I swear. I haven't even spoken with her since before I spoke with you... She must have listened to our conversation..."

"She wasn't there, Dwight," the sheriff still sounded quite angry, "We were in a room, the door closed, the windows closed... How could she have heard?"

"Well... she must have... I know I didn't tell her anything," Dewey persisted, "so unless you did, she must have heard through the wall or something... You do have the tendency to talk kind of loud sometimes..."

"Do you have any idea how big of a problem that woman has created for us?" the Sheriff yelled.

"YES!" Dewey yelled back at him, "I do have a pretty good idea how big of a problem she's created. But it's not my fault. There's nothing I can do about it. She and I aren't the same person. I can't control what she does! I've told her to stop being the way she is, but she doesn't listen to me. What do you expect me to do?"

"Arrest her," the Sheriff suggested, "she shared police information that she was told to keep quiet."

"But-" Dewey started.

"But nothing!" the Sheriff interrupted him, "just do it."

"We can't prove she got that information from us," Dewey protested. How was he supposed to arrest Gale? She'd never just let him do that... She'd probably refuse to let him take her in, and then what would he do? He couldn't force her... That would be too awkward...

"Either she got it from us, or she's the killer, Dwight," Sheriff Jones offered, "either way, she needs to be brought in. Can you handle it? Or do you want me to send someone to back you up. You're not scared of her, are you?" he taunted.

"I can handle it, sir," Dewey frowned, hanging up the phone.

He hoped she would come in on her own... He knew he could force her to if he really needed to... He was physically capable of it at least... But she would be so furious with him if he had to resort to that... He wished she would just stop putting her reporting above everything, so he wouldn't have to arrest her at all... But he knew that wasn't likely to happen any time soon...

Dewey looked at the phone he had just hung up. He knew Gale had a cell phone, so he could call her, ask her to meet him somewhere, and assuming she would agree to meet him, he could ask her to come in to the police station. Hopefully it wouldn't even really be considered an arrest... Hopefully she would just accompany him to the station with no hard feelings... But only time would tell...

xxxxxx

Gale sighed. Dewey had asked to meet with her, so she was now waiting for him on a park bench. She knew he'd probably seen her news report, and she knew he was probably furious with her. He hadn't fought for her at all when the sheriff wouldn't let her in on their discussion. He just let the sheriff be rude to her, without even standing up for her. If she had been let into the office, she might not have shared the information on the news... or would have at least done so more stealthily, adding only little bits of information at a time so as to not appear to have leaked everything she heard as soon as she left the station... At any rate, Dewey had a right to be a bit angry, but she had a right to be angry with him as well, so as far as she was concerned, they were even.

She looked around the park. Hardly anyone else was out. Night was falling, and people had good reason to be frightened to be out in the open all alone, considering Martha's murder. Certainly the people of Woodsboro hadn't forgotten how many people became fatalities of the original slew of murders. And anyone who had seen Gale's news report would know that it was dangerous to assume the murder was simply random.

A few people jogged by, a woman in a grey track suit with a pink sripe down the pants, and a man in black track pants and a white t-shirt. She watched them as they jogged past, paying no attention to her. They must not watch the news... or else they would have stopped to ask for her autograph or a photo or something...

Sighing, Gale pulled her phone out of her pocket and looked at the time. Dewey had said he'd meet her here in "a few minutes," and it had already been ten... He was normally on time, or even early to any date or meeting... She hoped nothing had happened to him...

She stuck the phone back into her skirt's pocket and watched the joggers, who had made pretty good progress in getting all the way across the park.

Gale looked up at the lamp next to the bench as it turned on automatically as the darkness of the night grew. She was beginning to feel rather nervous. She looked around the park again... The joggers were no longer in sight. Now Gale was the only person around. She thought of her own news report, and of the audio recording of what the killer had said to Martha before he killed her. The killer had mentioned bringing the "Woodsboro gang" back... Did that include her? Sid, Randy, Dewey, and Cotton were all from Woodsboro... so they were probably in danger... but was she? She was involved in the case, in reporting on it anyway, and had been at the scene of last murders, almost becoming a victim herself... But did the killer consider her as part of his or her "Woodsboro gang?"

As she thought about this, she was making herself even more nervous. If she indeed was a potential target, she was making herself a very easy kill by sitting out in the dark, all alone, under a lamp like she was on display, for the killer to be able to find her easily under the light.

Gale jumped slightly as she saw a shadow in the trees near her bench. She stared over where she thought she'd seen the shadow. It could have just been the shadow of the shrubbery and trees. But then it moved again...

"Who's there?" Gale asked, standing up, so she'd be ready to run if she needed to. She could hear her voice shaking, and was ashamed of herself for broadcasting her fear so obviously. She didn't usually like to show her emotions, except for anger. She hated anyone to know she was scared, sad, compassionate, or any other emotion she felt was negative.

The leaves rustled.

Gale took a step back, "Who's there?" she repeated, sounding more angry than frightened this time. If the killer was going to lunge out of the bushes, she wanted him to just do it already instead of playing games with her.

More rustling... This time, she could see the bushes move slightly, but still, no one emerged.

"Who's there, dammit?" she said, this time taking a step forward. It was probably some stupid kid just trying to scare her, probably filming her reaction so he could show it to the world and embarrass her. Oddly enough, even though she was very popular, she was simultaneously very hated... but that's just how fame works.

She took another step forward. As soon as she was within a few feet of the trees, someone finally emerged, stumbling out and crashing right into her.

Gale screamed, pushing the person away. But when she did so, she noticed two things: ONE, the person who had run into her was not wearing a ghost mask, and TWO, she felt a wet, sticky feeling on her hands where she had pushed the stranger away. It felt like blood.

She looked down at her hands, in horror as she saw a dark shade of red covering them. Then she looked back at the person, who just stood in front of her, looking weak and desperate. It was someone she'd seen before... In fact, it was someone she'd talked to earlier today... It was the 911 operator she'd interviewed during her news report.

"Bethany?" Gale asked, moving back toward her and looking her over. It was hard to see in the darkness, as they were not directly under the nearby lamp, but the large dark stain on the operator's shirt looked like blood, the same blood Gale now had all over her hands. Gale rushed over and grabbed Bethany's shoulders. She looked into her eyes, "Who did this, Bethany?"

Bethany tried to speak, but when she opened her mouth, only a small trickle of blood flowed down her chin.

Gale looked back into the trees. All she saw there was darkness. She looked back at Bethany, "I'll call an ambulance," Gale offered, finally remembering that she had her cellphone with her. She quickly led Bethany to the park bench and sat her down. Gale dialed the number with shaking hands and looked at Bethany again, "Is the killer still here? In the woods?" she asked.

Bethany shook her head, "I... don't... think... so..." she managed, coughing while she spoke. She didn't look well at all.

Gale reached out and grabbed Bethany's hand as she held her phone up to her ear.

"911. What is your emergency?" a voice spoke.

Looking nervously back at the shadowy trees, Gale responded, "I need an ambulance at the park, now. Someone's been stabbed..." She considered telling them who it was who had been stabbed, but thought the operator might know Bethany personally, and would panic if he knew it was his co-worker in peril, "I'm at the park bench in the back... On the oppose side from the fountain," she explained, trying to pinpoint their exact location.

"We'll send someone right over-" she heard the man respond.

She dropped her phone onto the bench. There was no need for her to stay on the line when Bethany lay dying right in front of her. The phone slid off the bench and onto the ground, but Gale didn't care about her phone right now.

"Stay with me," she urged, looking very seriously at Bethany. She was looking as though she may soon lose consciousness, "You're going to be okay," she promised.

Bethany's hand fumbled around in her pocket, "I-" she started, coughing again, "I have- something," she coughed another time. More blood flowed from her mouth, making Gale wince, "for you..." she finished, pulling a piece of paper from her pocket.

Gale frowned, "what?" She couldn't understand what the woman was trying to tell her. Bethany held the paper up to her. It was folded, and the outside was stained with bloody fingerprints. Gale reluctantly took it, not sure she even wanted to read what was written on it.

She unfolded the paper, but before she could read it, her attention was drawn back to Bethany, whose breath was sounding very stressed.

"Come on, Bethany," she pleaded, feeling very frantic, "Just hold on a minute longer... The ambulance will be here any minute... Just hold on..."

Bethany shook her head, "I'm dying Gale," she coughed.

Gale shook her head as well, "No..." She looked around, toward the road. She still neither saw nor heard any sign of the ambulance, "You'll be okay... Just don't give up just yet..."

Just as Gale said this, Bethany indeed did not hold on any longer. Gale could see what little light was left leave Bethany's eyes as she went completely limp. Bethany's eyes remained open. Gale stared at her in horror, hoping she'd wake back up. She obviously was not going to...

Finally, a minute too late, Gale heard the ambulance siren and saw the flashing lights. The ambulance had made relatively good time, but it still hadn't been fast enough. Bethany was dead.

As the paramedics worked on Bethany, making a last attempt at saving her, Gale watched, very uncertain of what she was meant to do. It was then that she felt something in her hand. It was the folded piece of paper Bethany had given to her. It was now covered in both Bethany's and Gale's bloody fingerprints, but the blood was all Bethany's.

Holding her breath, Gale unfolded the paper and read what it said:

"GALE:

WATCH OUT WHO  
YOU ARE TALKING  
TO. NO ONE LIKES  
A NOSY REPORTER.

DON'T MEDDLE."

She folded the paper back up and looked up as she heard someone calling her name. It was Dewey. He was running toward her, looking and sounding very worried as he called out, "Gale! Are you okay? What happened?"

Gale was at a loss for words...

Dewey spoke again, "Gale!" he was right next to her now, and had his hands on her arms, "Gale, what happened? Is the killer still here!" He looked around the park nervously, just as Gale had earlier.

Gale shook her head, "I don't know, Dewey," she whispered, "I never saw him... Bethany just stumbled out of the woods... She had already been stabbed... She wouldn't tell me what happened, where the killer was... She didn't say anything..."

Keeping ahold of Gale, Dewey looked around the park, his face showing his concern. He looked back down at Gale, "Are you hurt?"

Gale stared at him for a moment. Why would he think she was hurt? She told him the killer hadn't even approached her. She looked down at her hands, which were covered in sticky, crimson blood. Her white shirt was now stained red as well. She then looked back up at Dewey, "I'm fine," she managed to say, her voice quiet. She felt as though she was in a daze. This was different from the original murders... This somehow seemed much more serious, as though it wasn't just Sidney who was the main target. This was bigger than a teenaged boy's grudge against his classmate... The killer had mentioned bringing back the Woodsboro gang, and now Gale felt like she might just be a part of that group in the killer's eyes.

She looked up at Dewey, who looked like he felt guilty, "Gale," he started, his facial expression showing his hesitation, "Could you come down to the station to answer some questions?"

She nodded, "of course." She didn't know why he seemed to have been scared to ask her... She was a witness after all...

"Okay," he said, leading her back toward his police car, "Um... you can sit in the front..."

Gale looked at him, raising her eyebrows "I know," she scoffed, opening the passenger side door and climbing into the car.

Dewey sighed and walked around to the other side...

xxxxxx


	5. Suspect

xxxxxx

Dewey glanced over at Gale. She looked shaken, but yet still maintained a bit of confidence and defiance. If the sheriff accused her of anything when they reached the station, he was certain she'd yell at him and fight with him over any accusation, even if she really was guilty. Dewey therefore relished the few minutes he had on the short car ride over there. Sheriff Jones was obviously furious with her when he saw her news report, so he'd surely confront her about it when given the opportunity. For this reason, he dreaded having the reporter and the sheriff in the same room.

He focused on the road as they drove in silence. He wondered what Gale was thinking right now. She obviously had encountered death before, two years ago, so it wasn't something completely foreign. Even so, he was certain it was still shocking and traumatic to have witnessed someone die. Especially in a violent way such as what Gale had been witness to. The 911 operator didn't die of natural causes... she was stabbed, as far as Dewey could guess at least.

"What did you want to talk to me about?" Gale finally said.

Dewey looked over at her. She was staring at her hands and wore an expression of disbelief and disgust. Her hands were in her lap, one balled into a fist. She moved the fingers of the other hand, as though she was trying to somehow just shake the half-dried blood off. Dewey wished he had something to help her clean her hands with. He looked back at the road, and then glanced back at Gale, who was looking back at him now, waiting for his answer, "Oh... Just basic stuff... about what you witnessed... Anything unusual you saw before it happened... We'll cover it all in detail at the station..."

Gale rolled her eyes, "Not that..." she scoffed, "you called me before... You wanted to talk to me..."

"Oh, that..." Dewey hesitated, smiling nervously and pretending to have to put all of his focus on driving so as to avoid the question. What should he say? Should he tell her the sheriff wanted him to arrest her? Would the sheriff bring it up later anyway? "What do you think?" he finally asked, glancing over at her again.

Gale frowned, "I think you're angry with me," she admitted.

Dewey frowned too. It was difficult to be angry with her when she looked so vulnerable. She had just watched someone die, and was covered in that person's blood. She was probably terrified, "Why don't we not worry about that for now?" Dewey suggested.

Gale shook her head, "Maybe I meddle too much in things that I should just leave alone," she offered, staring down at her hands, which were both in tight fists in her lap now.

"Well..." Dewey started, "that's what reporters do..." He didn't want her to think what she did was alright, but he didn't want her to feel guilty either. The woman who had died was the same woman Gail had interviewed, but there was no way Gale could have known the 911 operator was going to be killed...

"Dewey..." Gale looked at him, tears in her eyes.

"Gale..." Dewey felt very uneasy now. He slowed the car down, pulling off to the side of the road and putting it in park. He leaned in closer to her, "what's wrong?" he asked, immediately regretting it. Why did he always have to say the most stupid thing possible? He already knew what was wrong... Obviously... Gale had just seen someone die, while she had tried to save her... and it was someone she had just talked to. She also probably felt like she might be a target, since the killer may have been right there in the park... maybe even watching her... Dewey frowned to himself... The killer could have just as easily killed Gale instead... He didn't even want to think of that.

"It's my fault Bethany's dead," Gale told him, tears shining in her eyes. He could tell she was putting a lot of effort into keeping those tears from falling.

"You tried to save her," Dewey assured her. "There's nothing you could have done more... You did everything you could."

Gale shook her head and held up her fist, opening her fingers to reveal a very bloody and crumpled piece of paper.

"What's this?" Dewey looked at her, taking the paper from her and smoothing it out. She didn't answer, but just continued to stare into his eyes. He looked down at the paper and read it out loud, "Gale, watch out who you are talking to. No one likes a nosy reporter..." frowning, he looked back at Gale whose wide eyes looked back at him. He looked back down at the paper and finished the last sentence, "Don't meddle." he read.

"It's my fault," Gale said again, "he killed her because of me... Because I talked to her on my news report..."

"Where did you get this?" Dewey asked her.

"Bethany," Gale responded, "she gave it to me... The killer must have given it to her and told her to pass it on to me..."

Dewey winced, the cop in him knowing he may have very well just messed up a piece of evidence. If the paper did have any prints on it from the killer, Dewey may have smudged them under his own prints... That is, if Gale hadn't already destroyed them... He placed the paper carefully on the dashboard of the car and focused on Gale again, "Don't feel like this was in any way your fault, Gale."

She shook her head, "the note pretty much explains it, Dewey," she frowned.

"Just because he wrote this doesn't mean it's true!" Dewey argued, feeling angry that Gale was letting this get to her. She never cared what anyone said about her... And she certainly never accepted blame for anything, even when it actually was her fault, "You can't read his mind, Gale. Maybe he'll kill me because you talked to me; how could you prevent that? You couldn't know he was even paying attention to what you were doing... There's no way you could have foreseen this."

"What if he does kill you next?" Gale whispered. Her eyes were wide and fearful, "Does the note imply that anyone I talk to will be killed? I'm a reporter, talking to the cops... That looks an awful lot like meddling to me..."

Dewey sighed, "Well... I think you should just lay low for a while... maybe don't interview anyone else."

"Obviously," she scoffed, folding her arms across her chest and looking away from Dewey. Her emotional side was quickly being buried by her pushy, know-it-all side.

Dewey sighed and put the car back into gear. He pulled back onto the street, avoiding eye-contact with the reporter, "Let's just get down to the station, and we'll sort all this out." He couldn't help but have a bit of an angry tone to his voice, but only just a slight tone, of course. He hated how Gale was always so defensive. He knew she was emotional and scared right now; he wished she would just express her true feelings instead of lashing out at him.

...

Gale followed Dewey up the steps and into the police station, noticing his limp, just as she had earlier in the day. As soon as she entered the building, she was immediately greeted by Sheriff Jones, who wore an angry expression on his face. Gale winced and held her breath. He was probably going to yell at her for sharing the police report on the news. She dealt with criticism and anger all the time though, so she knew she could handle it.

"Miss Weathers," he muttered, gesturing toward an office apart from the main room.

Gale followed the sheriff into the office without speaking a word. Dewey followed her.

"Have a seat," the sheriff offered, but didn't sound like he was offering to be nice, but rather so that he'd be standing, looking down at her, as some sort of superiority tactic.

Gale narrowed her eyes, "I'll stand," she stated.

Jones stared at her for a moment, looking like he might argue, but giving that argument up before he even began it. Instead, he got right to his point, "Miss Weathers," he started, "are you aware that sharing a police report with the media is dangerous and a criminal offense? If we had told you the material in confidence and you leaked it, you'd be in trouble. If you eavesdropped and leaked the information, you'd be in even more trouble."

"Well," Gale responded, "my information came from an anonymous source. I was asked to not be a part of discussing the case, so there's no way I could have gotten the information here. I can use information from an anonymous source. There's no law against that."

"Gale," Dewey cut in, looking briefly at Gale, but then turning to face the sheriff, "It's not really important how you got the information..." he turned back to Gale, "you were a witness of a crime, a murder..." he turned back to the sheriff, "I think we need to discuss that."

"We're investigating a crime, Dwight," the sheriff retorted, "we need to discuss every aspect of it. The last person to see the victim alive, the person who is covered in the victim's blood... is standing right in front of us. She's got motive; this case is giving her all the fame she's ever wanted. She got so much fame from the last time this happened... She's looking like a pretty good suspect to me, and if she's claiming she didn't get her information from us, then where'd she get it from?"

Dewey looked shocked.

Gale felt shocked, but didn't let that feeling express itself on her facial features for very long, "You're not serious!" she demanded, half questioning, but mostly simply stating. She couldn't believe the sheriff would peg her as a murderer.

"When you start cooperating with our investigation, maybe we can clear you from our suspect list," the sheriff smirked slightly. He was enjoying this too much.

"Sheriff," Dewey was clearly uncomfortable, "She's not a suspect... she's a witness. She wasn't even in town when the first murder took place... And... well... I just know her better than you do. She wouldn't kill anyone."

"With all due respect, Dwight," Jones looked at him, "you seem to have a bias toward the suspect. You should probably not be involved in this."

"You're the one with a bias," Gale cut in, glaring at the sheriff, "you think I stole your case information, and now you're taking your idiotic prejudice to assume my guilt."

"Tell me what you would do, Miss Weathers," the sheriff stared intently at her, "someone was murdered, and you were there. No one else was... Who should we suspect?"

Gale opened her mouth, but wasn't sure what to say. She closed it again. How could she prove her innocence? She had been the only person at the park. How could anyone know for sure that she hadn't stabbed Bethany? Then suddenly, she thought of something, "Did you find the murder weapon? Look for it! Search me for it. That'll prove it wasn't me. If you find it, it won't have my prints on it."

"Why, because you wore gloves?" the sheriff looked angry. Did he really think she was a murderer, or was this simply personal, because he didn't like her?

"Look for gloves then! They'd have to be at the park, because I don't have any on me," Gale suggested.

"I think you should just stay quiet for now, Gale," Dewey suggested, looking like he felt very nervous for her, "We'll investigate, and we'll prove you're innocent. I know you didn't do this... But if you keep trying to prove your innocence yourself, you may accidentally say something that could make you seem guilty."

Gale ignored him. He was trying to help; she knew that... but she could handle this on her own. She wasn't stupid, "you're wasting time," she yelled, glaring at the sheriff, "you're wasting time accusing me when the real killer is still out there. I can tell you what I know, and you might get closer to finding this son of a bitch."

"I'm just doing my job, Miss Weathers," Jones said, flatly.

"You're doing a piss poor job of it," Gale stared at him, "You could take your hatred of me and pretend you've got a suspect here, ignoring the fact that an actual murderer is running around your town, picking people off one by one, or you could question me as a witness, and I could help you actually find this guy."

"You'll be thoroughly questioned," the sheriff assured her, "We'll get to the bottom of this." He seemed to be through with this argument, whether Gale was or not, "Dwight," he looked at the younger man, "take the suspect to a holding cell for now. We need to process the crime scene."

Gale looked pleadingly at Dewey. He wasn't really going to lock her up, was he?

"Didn't you send two deputies out there already?" another cop asked.

Gale looked at him. Where did he come from?

"I'd like to see it for myself," the sheriff added, "go on, Dwight. And check her for weapons."

Dewey looked down at Gale sympathetically, "This way, Miss Weathers," he frowned, putting his hand on her arm to lead her toward the holding cell.

Gale pulled her arm away from him and walked to the cell on her own. Dewey was actually walking behind her, as though she was the one leading him. She knew Dewey couldn't really do anything, since the sheriff had authority over him... but he could have at least given some effort. He was always trying to do everything by the book, trying so hard to do the right thing and to stay out of trouble. Gale hated people like that... but then, there was still something about this quality of his that was a bit endearing. It made him seem more innocent. Certainly his and her personalities would completely clash if he wasn't a bit of a pushover...

She waited for Dewey to unlock the cell and then stood by the door, looking at him, waiting for him to demand that she go inside. She wasn't going to go in until he actually made her.

"Do you have any weapons on you?" Dewey asked.

Gale glared at him, "what do you think?" she asked, rhetorically.

"Do you mind if I pat you down?" he asked, "just in case... I mean... not that I think you have any. It's, uh, just procedure, you know?"

"As a matter of fact, Dwight," she started, sounding quite bold, "I do mind. Where would I put them if I did have weapons, Dewey?" She raised her arms up and turned in a circle. She was wearing a small shirt which fit quite close to her skin, and a mini skirt. There was no room for hidden weapons...

"It's procedure, Gale..." Dewey repeated, "just so I can tell the sheriff that I searched you..."

Gale frowned. She knew Dewey was still just trying to do the right thing. He believed her, or else he would have patted her down without asking her permission first. He had hoped she would just let him do it; that's why he'd asked, to be a gentleman.

"Fine," she said flatly.

He patted her down quickly, pausing while his hands were on her hips and looking into her eyes for a moment. It made Gale hold her breath, remembering the romantic history the two of them had. But now was hardly the time and place to be thinking about romance...

Dewey gestured toward the cell, silently telling her that she needed to go into it.

She simply stared at him, narrowing her eyes and frowning, "You know I didn't do this," she said quietly, so that only Dewey could hear her, "aren't you even going to fight him on this?"

"You won't have to stay here for long, Gale," he assured her. His expression showed his concern as he added, "besides... you're probably much safer in here than out there," he gestured toward the front door, "that note sort of implied that you might be a target..." Then he looked worried in a different way, the kind of way a child looks worried when he says something that was supposed to be kept a secret, "I mean... you don't need to be scared or anything... uh-"

"I'm not stupid, Dewey," Gale glared at him, "I read the note... I know what it implies. By the way," she raised her eyebrows, "are you ever going to share that note with the sheriff? He didn't really give me a chance to bring it up..."

"Oh!" Dewey looked embarrassed, "I can't believe I forgot about that..."

Gale sighed. She might as well just do his job for him...

"Did I give it back to you?" Dewey asked, looking confused and a bit concerned.

Gale rolled her eyes, "No," she could hear in her own voice that she sounded tired and maybe a bit frustrated "Check your pockets... or your car... I don't know where you put it."

Dewey stuffed his hands into his jacket pockets, and then into his pants pockets. Then he just felt around his chest and sides as though perhaps he thought he may have somehow gotten the note stuck to his jacket without knowing it, "It... uh... must still be in the car..." he smiled nervously, knowing Gale was losing patience with him.

Gale shook her head, "whatever, Dewey," she walked into the holding cell and sat on the small bench along the wall, giving up fighting him, "he'd probably only claim I wrote it myself anyway."

Dewey walked into the cell and sat down next to her, putting his hand on hers, "His reasons for considering you a suspect are a little bit legitamate..." Dewey started, looking at her hand and then lifting his own hand off of hers, "but there won't be any evidence against you, so you'll be cleared in no time..." He was still staring at her hands, "do you want to wash your hands?" he added.

Gale nodded and followed him back out of the cell and into a washroom.

"I'll bring you a clean shirt too," Dewey told her.

"I won't wear a jail shirt... Whatever you'd call it..." Gale said as she washed the blood off her hands, "if you bring me some prison uniform shirt, I'll just not wear a shirt at all."

Dewey smirked and exited the washroom.

Gale was glad he believed her. If he thought she was guilty, he wouldn't leave her alone in the washroom, because a guilty person might run off at this point. She knew it would only get her in more trouble, and would get Dewey in trouble too, so she stayed put. She took her shirt off and wet a paper towel, dabbing her stomach with it, as blood had seeped through the shirt and onto her skin. She examined her skirt. It seemed spotless, but it was black, so she couldn't say for sure. Her shirt only had blood in the middle, and not the bottom... so the skirt was probably clean... It was really the least of her concerns right now.

Dewey walked back in at this point. He stopped in the doorway for a moment, looking Gale over. She could tell he was surprised (pleasantly) to see she had already taken her shirt off. Gale couldn't help smirk slightly.

She handed Dewey her bloody shirt, "you probably want this as evidence," she told him, noticing he still looked like a kid in a candy store as he stared at her, "Dewey," she said his name, drawing his attention up to her face.

"Oh... sorry," Dewey looked ashamed, which made Gale smile. He was so awkward. He held out a t-shirt, that looked like one of his own, like a snug-fitting under-shirt, perhaps, "It's clean," he assured her.

Gale slipped it on as Dewey placed her other shirt into a plastic evidence bag. His shirt was loose on her. It felt cool, soft, and well worn. She enjoyed knowing that he wore the shirt a lot, so it must have been one of his favourites.

Neither of them spoke as she followed him back to the holding cell.

She walked into the small room and then turned around to see Dewey had followed her. He held his arms out like he wanted to hug her. She held hers out as well and accepted his gesture.

Gale pulled away a little after a moment, looking up into Dewey's eyes. He gazed back down into hers, and then moved down to kiss her.

"Dwight!" they both jumped as they heard the sheriff call out, "are you about done back there? How long does it take to put a suspect into a cell?"

Gale was glad the sheriff was not within sight. He probably would have been furious if he'd seen what Gale and Dewey had been up to.

She felt almost out of breath, as she and Dewey looked at each other. Their almost-kiss was lost now. The moment was no longer right. They had kissed many times before... and had gone much further than kissing back while they were dating... Even so, the kiss she had just almost recieved still made her skin tingle just like the first time they had kissed...

"I've got to go," Dewey finally muttered quietly.

Gale nodded, "See you later then," she frowned.

Dewey smiled slightly and kissed her forehead. He ran his hands down her arms and squeezed her hands. She squeezed back. He turned and exited the cell, locking it behind him.

Gale must not have hidden her emotions well, because Dewey reached his hand back through the bars, "This will all work out," he assured her, "I know you're innocent, and Jones will believe it too soon. So don't be worried."

"I'm not worried," she lied. She was confident there'd be no evidence against her, but she also wondered if Jones would see it that way, and she also felt relatively sure she might be wearing a huge target on her back. Whoever the killer was didn't seem to like her very much.

"I'll see you later then..." Dewey forced a smile and then walked away.

Gale sighed and sat down on the bench. Now she was all alone with only her own thoughts to occupy her. She was used to being hated, so it was no surprise to her that the sheriff had a grudge against her. He knew she had stolen case information. He couldn't prove it, but he knew it, and so she knew precisely whey he hated her. Even so, she was not used to be accused of murder, so this newest accusation had her a bit agitated.

Since she had nothing else to do, she kicked off her high healed shoes and tried to come up with her own suspect list.

Sidney and Randy could potentially be suspects, since they were involved last time... but neither seemed like the killer-type. Plus, they had both been away at school, as far as Gale knew... And she didn't think Randy would kill his own sister.

The note Bethany had given her was her biggest clue. The killer knew where to find Gale so he could deliver his message effectively. So who knew that she was going to be in the park? Dewey did... Dewey couldn't kill someone though. Did he tell Sheriff Jones where he was going? Did the sheriff know she'd be in the park? Because he seemed rather spiteful... and he certainly would have wanted her to stop meddling with his case information...

Gale's blood ran cold. The sheriff seemed the most likely suspect. He'd be able to pull off murders easy, and then go back to the scene to investigate... No one would suspect the police of murder... The note had told her to watch who she was talking to... Jones had pretty much said the same thing, telling her to mind her own business and stay away from his case...

What if the sheriff killed Dewey next? Jones didn't always seem to be too fond of Dewey... and right now, the two of them were together, driving in a car with no one else around... Dewey might be his next victim.

Gale had to do something... She shot up from the bench and ran over to the bars between her cell and the rest of the building, "officer!" she yelled out to the nearest uniformed person, "I need my phone call!"

xxxxxx


	6. Sid, Randy, and Cotton

xxxxxx

Sidney sat on her bed, the bed in her old bedroom. Since she had gone off to university, her dad had turned her bedroom into a sort of storage room. There were shelves full of books, boxes of old clothing and photo albums, an exercise machine which he had barely ever used even when he first bought it, and a television. The television was set up to receive only local channels, but that was better than nothing.

So she sat on her bed and watched the news, one of the only channels the television antenna would pick up.

A reporter stood at the park. There were lights flashing in the background. The lights appeared to be radiating from a police car, or from several police cars. Sidney frowned. The reporter was not Gale, as it usually would have been. Maybe Gale had finally given up reporting... But Sidney doubted it. She wondered how another reporter had possibly gotten his way onto the local news in place of Gale. Gale was always the first person on the scene of the crime. Instead of continuing to analyze the reporter, Sidney decided to start listening to what he was actually saying.

"-appears to be another victim of what is believed to be a copy-cat killer," the reporter said, "At least two lives have been claimed, and two young girls remain missing. The police have yet to release the name of the latest victim..."

Sidney sighed. This wasn't just a single murder anymore. This really was going to be a repeat of two years ago... She had assumed as much from the start of hearing of Martha's death, of course, but now that a report of a second killing was being broadcast, she couldn't really ignore the obvious or pretend she didn't really believe the murders had anything to do with her. If this was a copy-cat killer, she'd surely make the "to kill" list. The previous murders sort of revolved around her... anyone desiring to finish the job would come after her for sure... Maybe Randy too.

On top of these suspicions, Sidney also couldn't ignore Gale's news report. Gale Weathers had mentioned that the killer wanted to bring back the Woodsboro gang... Martha was killed to bring Randy and Sidney back to the small town... The poor girl was only bait, killed just because of who she was related to, and for no other reason. Sidney wondered who all comprised the "Woodsboro Gang." Dewey perhaps? He was nearly killed last time... He came closer to death than any of them. Gale was involved too... and Martha's death certainly succeeded in luring her back to Woodsboro. What about Cotton? He was either a target or the killer, Sidney thought. He was not really involved in the original killings, but he did have motive to kill... revenge against Sidney for falsely accusing him of murder... But then why lure back Randy and Gale as well? Why not just go to her university and kill only her? Maybe he really had lost his mind and didn't care who he killed... maybe he just wanted to kill, and it wasn't all just about revenge...

But was Cotton capable of killing? She certainly had thought so before, but had been proven wrong... maybe this time she was right...

Sidney gasped as her phone rang. She sighed and blinked her eyes for a moment when she realized the sound was only the phone. She hated being so scared and jumpy. She had just finally gotten over her irrational fear of Bobby and Stu, who she knew were dead... and now she had new reason to be terrified... She reached over to her nightstand and grabbed the phone.

"Hello," she answered, hearing in her voice that she was a bit flustered still.

"Sidney?" she heard a concerned woman's voice on the other end.

"Gale? What's wrong? Are you alright?" Sidney was instantly worried. Gale seemed to be a possible target for murder... so did Dewey, "Is everything okay? Is Dewey with you? Is he alright?"

"Relax, Sidney," Gale's voice became a bit more calm, but still had an edge to it, "I'm fine... relatively. I'm worried about Dewey... I think I know who the killer is."

"What?" Sidney was shocked. How could Gale be confident enough to actually accuse someone? "Who is it? How do you know?"

"I think it's the sheriff," Gale told her... "he told me to stay away from the case, and when I reported on it, he was really angry, and now the woman I interviewed is dead, and she gave me a note saying not to meddle... it had to have been from him! Why would any other killer even care that I interviewed her?" Gale was speaking very quickly now, almost frantically, "Dewey is with him... they are going to process the crime scene, but what if the sheriff kills him!"

"Gale," Sidney tried to calm the reporter, "I know the sheriff... He wouldn't kill anyone... He probably just didn't want you telling the world details about his case... With respect, Gale... you really shouldn't have reported on it... It was none of your business..." She didn't want to offend Gale, but what she was telling her was definitely worth saying. Gale always got way too involved in her reports, and frequently delved in deeper than she should.

"Will you please just go down to the park and make sure he's okay?" Gale's voice sounded like she wanted to cry, "take Randy or someone with you, so you won't be alone..."

Sidney sighed, "why can't you go?" she asked.

There was a pause.

"Gale?" Sidney said after a moment.

"I'm at the police station," Gale informed her. Her voice sounded of sarcasm and frustration, "In a holding cell... Your best friend Sheriff Jones is accusing me of murder."

Sidney was shocked. That was a little extreme of the sheriff... Sure, he had good reason to be upset with Gale, but why accuse her of murder? That was ridiculous, "What?" Sidney asked, "How did that come about? How could he claim you murdered someone?"

"I was there when Bethany died... Um... the 911 operator I interviewed... she was stabbed, and she stumbled out of the trees in the park, and handed me a note from the killer... I was the only person there, so the sheriff is treating me as a suspect."

Sidney frowned, "He's just doing his job, Gale... I'm sure it's nothing personal," she paused, breathing in, "well... maybe it is a bit personal... but they'll find evidence against someone else soon, and you'll be fine."

"Sidney, please!" Gale sounded frantic again, "I don't have much time left on this call... Please just go over and check on him. I just want to make sure he's okay... I have a horrible feeling about the sheriff... If everything's fine, then great... But what if you don't go and then he ends up being killed? He's like a brother to you... You've got to make sure he's okay... He'd do it for you, and you know it."

She knew Gale was right. Not about everything she had said... Sidney was fairly certain Sheriff Jones wasn't a murderer... but she also knew that if Dewey had any suspicion that Sidney was in danger, he'd do anything he could to make sure she was safe, "Alright," she finally agreed, "I'll go over there."

"Don't go alone..." Gale reminded her, "I'm sure the killer wouldn't try anything there at the crime scene... but it's not a good idea to be going anywhere alone lately..."

"I'll ask Randy," Sidney suggested.

"Okay..." Gale still sounded upset, "thank you, Sidney. Be careful."

"Will do," she promised, "and try to calm down, Gale... Everything's going to be fine."

"I hope so," Gale agreed, "I'll see you later."

"See ya," Sidney said, and hung up the phone.

...

Cotton Weary sat in his car, which was parked at a safe distance from the crime scene in the park. He wanted to see what was going on, but he knew going right up to the scene would make him look extremely suspicious. He was probably already a suspect in the minds of many residents of Woodsboro, if only because they were used to thinking of him as a killer.

He craned his neck, trying to make out any aspect of the scene before him.

He could see a few cops scattered around, looking around a bench and in the trees and bushes nearby. It looked like one of the cops was putting something into an evidence bag, something small and black... maybe a cell phone or a wallet.

An ambulance was there, but the siren wasn't on. Whoever was in the ambulance was already dead, perhaps. Or maybe no one was in it... Maybe more ambulances had come than were needed, so anyone involved in this were already taken care of and the remaining ambulance was empty... Cotton didn't really know much about ambulance policies...

*knock * knock * knock*

Cotton held his breath for a second and someone knocked on his car window. He looked up to see Sidney Prescott, and her friend Randy. Sidney was looking at him very suspiciously, while Randy looked a bit disinterested in him, and more interested in the scene in the distance.

"Sidney," he grinned as he rolled down his window, "what a pleasant surprise. What brings you here?" he asked. He knew she hated him and found him creepy, but he also felt she was being completely unfair. His innocence had been proven. She had no reason to be angry with him anymore.

"What are you doing here?" she asked, her face showing concern as she ignored his comments.

"I noticed something going down over here, so I'm trying to see what's going on," he told her.

She didn't look convinced. She shook her head, "don't you realize how suspicious you look? You claim to be normal and innocent and everything... just because you were proven innocent of one thing doesn't mean you've got a free pass to never be accused of anything again..."

Cotton frowned, "I have just as much right to be here as you do," he told her, "What are you doing here anyway?" he asked again, hoping she'd answer this time.

"Same as you," she responded, "Just seeing what's going on."

"Come on, Sid," Randy finally spoke, tugging on her arm.

"Mind if I join you?" Cotton asked, already reaching to open his car door.

Sidney frowned and looked as though she was going to deny his request, but her strange friend spoke first.

"Knock yourself out, buddy," he clapped Cotton on the shoulder, "don't blame us if people get suspicious though."

Cotton smiled. Randy was an interesting kid, and Cotton appreciated that he didn't seem to hold a grudge. He acknowledged that Cotton might appear a bit guilty, but he didn't seem to actually believe he was. Certainly if he believed Cotton had killed his sister, Martha, he would have been much more hostile toward him.

He followed the two young friends closer to the crime scene. A small group of spectators already stood around a police-taped off section of the park, and a few police officers stood on the other side of the tape, reminding people to stay back. Other officers were searching the area for evidence.

"Dewey!" Sidney called out.

Cotton followed her gaze to see the crippled police officer, who was holding an evidence bag with a cell phone in it.

"Sid! What are you doing here?" he called out, waving his arm and motioning for her to walk around to the edge of the police tape, where there weren't any other people. Randy followed her, so Cotton decided to follow as well. He wanted the inside scoop. Dewey would probably tell Sidney everything he knew about the case.

"Dewey, are you alright?" Sidney asked him.

Dewey frowned, "Of course I am," he assured her, "why? Did something happen? Are you guys okay?" He looked from Sidney to Randy, and then over at Cotton, "Oh... hi, Cotton," he smiled timidly.

Cotton nodded and waved, "Hey, Dewey."

"What are you guys doing here?" Dewey asked again, "all of you together, I mean..." Cotton could see obvious confusion on the cop's face. Seeing Cotton with Sidney and Randy was surely confusing for him, since he probably knew Sidney held a grudge against him.

"We ran into each other by coincidence," Cotton explained, "we all three wanted to find out what's going on over here, so we walked over together... Can you tell us what happened?"

"Uh... um... that's classified information," Dewey stammered.

"It's already all over the news, Dewey," Sidney told him.

"Oh," Dewey looked down, "really? Well... um... I guess I can tell you then, Cotton... The um... the 911 operator who took Martha's call was murdered. Bethany Grace. I don't know if you knew her."

Cotton shook his head. He didn't know her, "How was she killed?"

Dewey looked uneasy, "maybe I shouldn't say..."

"Dewey, I've got to talk to you," Sidney interrupted, "It's important."

"Well, what is it, Sid?" he asked, grasping her upper arms and looking into her eyes, "what's going on?"

Sidney shook her head, "We need to talk in private..." she added, glancing over at Cotton for just a moment.

Dewey nodded and led her away. Cotton tried to listen to hear what they were discussing, but the noise of the crowd of civilians by the scene ruined any chance he had at overhearing them.

"Hey," Randy spoke up, "What's your deal?" the kid narrowed his eyes and cocked his head slightly to the side in confusion.

"What?" Cotton furrowed his brow, unsure of what Randy was actually asking, "What's my deal?" he repeated the question.

"Yeah," Randy continued, "You got out of prison, right... because you didn't really kill Sid's mother. We know you didn't kill her... So you're back here, for some reason... trying to look as guilty as possible... What's up with that?"

Cotton smirked and couldn't help but laugh, "I'm not trying to look guilty," he said.

"Why come back to Woodsboro? And why hang out around crime scenes? It's almost as if you want people to think you're the killer..." Randy mused, "but why would you want people to think that?"

Cotton frowned, "I don't want people to think I'm a murderer..." he promised, "why would I?"

"I don't know," Randy answered, "That's what I'm asking you."

Cotton just shrugged. Did Randy think he was guilty? What was he trying to imply? "What are you saying, Randy?" Cotton finally just decided to ask, "are you saying you think I'm the killer?"

"No," Randy contradicted him, "Not at all. You're much too obvious of a suspect."

Frowning, Cotton sighed, "obvious?"

"Yeah," Randy continued, "you couldn't be the killer, because it's too obvious. The real killer would never let himself look as suspicious as you've been looking. Or herself... you never know."

Cotton laughed. What was wrong with this kid? This was a very serious situation, and yet he was treating it like a game of who-dun-it. It's like he thought he was in a movie. Real life killers don't follow the molds of killers from horror flicks... For all Randy could know, Cotton could easily be the killer, no matter how obvious he appeared. Cotton wasn't going to suggest that though.

He looked over in the direction of Dewey and Sidney. Their conversation looked like it may be serious. Dewey was shaking his head and Sidney was simply staring at him and saying something very quietly, too quietly for Cotton to overhear what it was.

Gesturing in the direction of the cop and Sidney, Cotton looked to Randy, "Any idea what they're talking about?" he asked.

Randy narrowed his eyes, "Wouldn't you like to know." He didn't phrase this as a question, but just as a sort of defensive statement.

"Yeah," Cotton sighed, "I would."

Randy looked conflicted, as though he was contemplating telling Cotton what was going on. Finally, the young movie-buff shrugged his shoulders and exhaled loudly, "Gale thinks she knows who the killer is... So she sent Sidney to warn Dewey. Sid doesn't think it's him though... She's just telling Dewey so Gale won't be worried."

"Why can't Gale tell him herself?" Cotton wondered.

Randy looked around himself, likely making sure no one was listening in. He leaned in closer to Cotton and whispered, "because she's locked up in the sheriff station... The sheriff is questioning her as a suspect of this most recent murder. The lady who was killed was someone she interviewed on her stupid news report or something... I'm just going by what Sidney told me... I haven't been watching the news. I've got bigger fish to fry, you know?"

Cotton was surprised. Gale was kind of a jerk sometimes, but he didn't think anyone would ever accuse her of murder, "do you think she really did it?" he asked, maintaining the low voice tone Randy had established.

Randy shrugged, "I don't know her that well," he began, "and she does have the most to gain from more murders... But somehow I don't think she has it in her to actually kill anyone."

"So the sheriff thinks Gale is the killer," Cotton began, trying to clarify all the gossip, "and who does Gale think the killer is?"

Randy laughed, "the sheriff."

Cotton nodded. Then he laughed, "well, that's a mess... Sounds like they both just don't like each other and are accusing each other just because of they hate each other."

Randy shrugged, "who knows... I think they're both making accusations way too soon. If this were a horror film, there'd be no way the killer would be found out so soon. There would have to be probably four or five more murders before anyone would be a suspect... And even then, the suspect wouldn't really be guilty... and then everyone goes to some big party or something, and half the cast dies, and then the killer is revealed, and it's someone no one suspected, and maybe someone who just blended in to the background the whole time..."

Cotton stared at him. He wasn't sure to say. Fortunately, Randy wasn't finished talking, so Cotton didn't have to try to come up with a response just yet.

"But that's another uncertainty," Randy continued, "it's sometimes someone you'd never suspect, but sometimes it really is the most obvious suspect. I mean, last time, Sid thought it was Billy from the very start... It was only when she was finally convinced otherwise that he finally revealed himself as the killer... So one of the existing suspects really could be the actual killer... The sheriff or Gale could turn out to be the killer, and I couldn't say I'd be really surprised. And then you, of course... you're obvious, so that means that you're definitely not the killer (because you're being obvious to throw people off of the real killer) or it could mean that you definitely are the killer, because we're supposed to think you're too obvious and so we won't suspect you because of it."

"This isn't a movie, Randy," Cotton finally said, "no one's trying to throw off an audience... This is real life..."

"The killer's probably trying to throw off the cops though," Randy commented, "that's kind of the same as the audience."

Just then, Sidney walked back toward them. Randy's attention went right back to her. His facial expression showed his infatuation with her, "Everything okay, Sid?" he asked, looking concerned.

Sidney nodded. She looked at Cotton and then started whispering to Randy.

Cotton scoffed and rolled his eyes, "I'll see you around, guys," he said. There was no point in him staying if Sidney was going to refuse to talk where he could hear her.

"Later, man," Randy called back to him.

Sidney just looked at him and forced a small smile.

As Cotton walked back to his car, he considered what Randy had said. The killer would either be really obvious, or a total surprise, according to Randy. He wasn't sure if Randy's thoughts were necessarily logical, since he was looking at this all as though it was a horror film... But then, films weren't always so different from real life...

xxxxxx


	7. Killer

xxxxxx

Standing in the park, (s)he smirked ever so slightly. Everyone around was gathered to see any glimpse at the latest murder. The body was long gone by now, taken away in an ambulance (even though the paramedics had obviously failed in resuscitating her.) Bethany had been a necessary death. Someone needed to show Gale that the publicity she was giving to this case wasn't warranted. Of course, the killer wanted to be heard a little. (S)he wanted people to know what (s)he was capable of. But Gale wasn't just giving her/him publicity... She was at the point of being nosy. Interviewing the 911 operator? Letting the entire world hear words that were meant for Martha alone? (S)he hadn't wanted anyone but Martha to hear the words about reuniting the "Woodsboro Gang," but then Gale had to share that information, as always. What Gale didn't know at the time was, this time, the killer was smarter than some stupid teenaged boys. This time, the killer meant business, and it wasn't just about Sidney anymore. Sidney was a big part of it, of course, but so was Gale. Anyone was fair game this time.

(S)he had been at the park for a while. In the woods with Bethany, holding her/his hand over the 911 operator's mouth to keep her from screaming... Then (s)he had given Bethany the note written especially for Gale. Bethany seemed to think for a moment that she was going to live through this... that delivering the note was her entire purpose. But the killer didn't just want the note casually handed over to the reporter. (S)he wanted this delivery to be dramatic, so (s)he stabbed Bethany deep in the stomach, very suddenly. The poor woman was completely surprised, and yet she didn't scream.

So the killer whispered in her ear, telling her to go out into the park and give the note to the reporter. As Bethany stumbled around, the killer watched silently. (S)he watched Gale as the reporter noticed rustling in the woods. (S)he rather enjoyed that Gale appeared quite frightened, and was actually quite amused to see Gale start walking toward the woods instead of running away. Killing her later would probably be cake. Of course, she may choose to tread more carefully after tonight...

As the event progressed, the killer observed. Gale took the note, called the police, pleaded with Bethany to hold onto life... Then the ambulance and Dewey arrived, and took Gale away. Then before long the rest of the town had heard, and the crowd began to form. Now the killer could blend in as one of them, and no one would even know (s)he was there...

...

The killer couldn't stay long after Dewey took Gale away. (S)he had appearances to make, alibis to fulfill...(S)he went about with his/her usual activities right after the murder, pretending (s)he wasn't aware of the killing instantly after it happened. After a short time of creating this facade of innocence, (s)he had occasion to return to the scene with the crowd. (S)he acted how anyone in the community would expect him/her to act... Observing the crime scene was fun, but the killer didn't have time to stay long; (S)he had more important things to do.

People were obviously getting scared now. (even more than they were, of course) Two people were confirmed dead; this wasn't just a random murder anymore. But was the killer really being taken seriously yet? As far as the cops and public knew, only two people had been killed (possibly 3 or 4, since the other two girls hadn't been found...) The killer had thus far only succeeded in killing women... (S)he wanted to make sure people knew what (s)he was capable of. (S)he wasn't just going to kill women... (S)he wasn't too weak to kill men... The public needed this to be proven to them... So now what (s)he needed was a male victim...

But who should it be? There were some obvious choices... Randy, Dewey... Both were involved in the original case... But the killer wanted their deaths to be more important. This next death was just going to be an example of what the killer was capable of. (S)he would save Randy and Dewey for something more extravagant. Something elaborate and meaningful.

Everyone had their doors and windows locked, and the only people out and about were all crowded around the park where Bethany had been killed. The killer needed to find an easy male target, all alone, and somewhere without locked doors... (S)he knew the perfect place...

The sheriff station was quiet. Most of the police were out at the park. The good thing about being a serial killer in a small town was that there were only about five cops, and when one murder was found out, they'd all flock to it, leaving the rest of the town (and even their own police station) completely vulnerable.

The killer walked up the steps and opened the door quietly. (S)he was already dressed in the usual garb - all black, and the white ghost-face mask. It was such a hilarious disguise. (S)he was proud of Billy and Stu for thinking of it two years ago. It would be ridiculous and not really scary at all as a Halloween costume, but because it was now associated with gruesome murders, it ended up being a bit creepy after all...

Only one cop was at the station, and fortunately, that cop was indeed a male. And was also not paying any attention to his surroundings. In fact, he still hadn't noticed the killer standing in the lobby. And neither had the prisoner in the holding cell. In fact, the prisoner seemed to be asleep on the cot in the small cell. The killer squinted and moved her/his head to see better.

Inside the cell were some very curious things. First, some high-healed shoes on the floor... Next, a woman wearing a familiar looking skirt, and a men's t-shirt that didn't match the skirt or fit the woman. The killer smiled behind her/his mask.

(S)he wasn't interested in toying with Gale right now. (S)he had more important things to do at the moment.

The cop who had stayed behind while all the others went to the crime scene sat at a desk and was staring intently at a computer screen. He had a card game pulled up on it. Solitaire, it looked like. He wasn't paying attention at all...

The killer walked up behind him, almost tip-toeing to avoid detection. The cop didn't notice a thing until it was too late. The killer stood right behind him when he finally jumped out of his seat and spun around.

"What are you-" he stopped in mid sentence when he was turned around fully and could finally see who was behind him. Apparently seeing a ghost mask instead of a co-worker was startling.

Instead of answering the cop's half-question, the killer simply stared at him and plunged the knife into his stomach. But this didn't take him down. Surprisingly, people still stumble around and try to escape while they are bleeding to death out of a gaping hole in their abdomen... He was making horrible sounds, screaming and breathing loudly. It kind of made the killer feel a little bad. This cop hadn't done anything wrong. He was just an example. Sort of how Martha was. She hadn't personally done anything... She was just the bait to get Randy and the others back into town.

The best thing to do would probably be to put him out of his misery.

Before the killer could end the cop's agony, (s)he heard another peculiar sound, a high-pitched scream. But it wasn't coming from the cop... It was radiating out of the holding cell. (S)he turned to see Gale, staring in her/his direction, with a look of complete horror on her face. She was screaming, and at the same time sort of pleading with the killer...

"Marcus!" she screamed. That was the cop's name... and apparently Gale knew it for some reason. Maybe because she had been in a very steamy relationship with Dewey, so she knew his co-workers by name now... Or maybe they had talked while it was just the two of them in the station for the past hour...

The killer watched her as she cried and clung to the bars of the cell. She knew there was nothing she could do, but as the killer turned back toward the cop, Marcus, to finish the job, she pleaded anyway.

"Please let him go," she cried, "don't kill him..."

Marcus was gasping and holding his hands over his wound. He was stumbling toward his desk, probably to retrieve his gun. The killer had no choice now. (S)he couldn't just let Marcus get to his weapon. So (s)he lunged forward again, stabbing Marcus two more times. Finally the cop fell down to his knees and began pleading as well.

He raised his hands in surrender, "I won't try anything," he gasped, and then quickly brought his hands back down to apply pressure to his wounds which were bleeding heavily now. He stumbled back and fell onto his back as he looked up at his soon-to-be murderer. He coughed and continued pleading, "I won't come after you," he coughed again, "if you-" he was having trouble breathing now, "if you- let- me live..."

"Please!" (s)he heard Gale crying from the holding cell.

The killer shook his head and brought the knife down so that it was resting on Marcus's neck, "I'll make this quick," the killer finally spoke. (S)he had a device installed into the mask that would hide her/his voice. Billy and Stu had a similar device, but had to hold it up and press the button to make it work. (S)he was smarter than they were. (S)he could speak in disguise even while committing a murder, with both hands busy.

Marcus coughed again, but stopped pleading. He narrowed his eyes and breathed hard as though trying to remain as strong and stoic as possible. The killer respected that. (S)he dragged the knife quickly across his throat, making his death as quick as possible.

Now Marcus was quiet, but Gale was not. She was sobbing.

No one was here, so the killer had time to mess with her a bit before (s)he left the station. (S)he walked over to the cell and looked in at Gale who had backed up against the wall farthest away from the barred wall.

"Stay away from me," she sobbed, trying to back into the wall further than was possible.

The killer tilted his/her head to the side as though (s)he was considering this.

Gale stared at the killer, still trying to back through the wall. Her fingers clawed at the wall that her back was pressed against, as though somehow she was going to manage to get through it and show up outside so she could run away. She didn't speak anymore, and now looked like she was too terrified to continue crying.

The killer smiled a hidden smile and walked over to a row of hooks on a nearby wall. This row of hooks contained the key to Gale's cell. The killer grasped the key slowly and walked back over to the cell. (S)he dangled it in front of the cell so Gale could see it. This made her breathing turn much more rapid. Her arms shook as she continued to claw at the wall.

The killer slipped the key into the key hole and watched to see Gale's reaction. At first she just cowered in the furthest corner of the cell, as though keeping her distance would somehow save her from a murderer with a knife who had her completely cornered. But when the killer turned the key, Gale shot up and ran right at the door. She grabbed the cell door and fought to force it to stay closed.

This was a little annoying. The killer hadn't intended on actually opening the door. (S)he was simply toying with the reporter... But now (s)he was a little peeved that Gale had fought back so cleverly. Being locked in a cell was dangerous, but at the same time, it was safe... If she could remain locked away, and the killer couldn't get into the cell as well, she'd be safe...

As Gale held the door closed, she looked up into the mask. The killer could see her quite close now. She looked scared, but determined. While the killer had no intention of killing her yet, (s)he couldn't just let the reporter win this battle. So (s)he stuck the knife through the bars, slashing wildly at the reporter. She screamed and jumped back, stumbling into the wall. She gasped and looked down at her upper arm. Blood was oozing down her arm. It didn't look like enough to be fatal, but it definitely was more than just a superficial scratch.

The killer stared at her a moment longer. She stared back, probably debating with herself on whether to stay back or to go back and try to hold the cell door closed again.

She didn't have to contemplate for long, because the killer didn't want to end Gale's life yet. (S)he locked the door back up, stuffed the key into Marcus's pocket, and walked out of the station. Some of the other cops had to be arriving back soon, and the killer didn't want to be there when they did...

The killer was very confident that (s)he had left the intended impression. Now it was just a matter of time. (S)he could wait and see what the news said now... Maybe Gale could do the news report... if she dared...

xxxxxx


	8. Gale

xxxxxx

Dewey sighed. It had been a long night. When Sidney had approached him and alerted him of Gale's suspicion of the Sheriff, he wasn't entirely surprised. The sheriff and Gale hated each other. If the sheriff was going to accuse Gale of murder, it only fit that she'd accuse him right back. He certainly didn't agree with her accusation though. He had known the sheriff for quite some time, and felt certain he wouldn't kill anyone. He only hoped the could convince Gale of Jones's innocence, while convincing Jones of Gale's at the same time.

The sheriff had instructed Dewey to go interview Bethany's family, friends, and co-workers, to find out what was going on prior to her murder. But none of them had seen her since hours before; she was last seen leaving from work, so anyone, even her co-workers could have been responsible for her death. Bethany's co-workers in no way cleared Gale or Jones from the suspect list, even though Dewey was certain neither of them did it anyway.

Now he was sitting in his car, trying to remember if the sheriff had asked him to do anything else. As he thought, his radio squelched. He adjusted the knob in order to make out what was being said.

"Dewey here," he said into the radio, "repeat that last call please. Over."

"All deputies and Sheriff Jones need to report back to the station as soon as possible." he heard someone's voice. It sounded frantic, "...over." the voice added after a pause, as though she was so flustered she had forgotten the radio usage regulations for a moment.

Dewey started his car. This sounded serious. "Sam?" Dewey said back into the radio as he started driving toward the station. He knew it wasn't how the radio was meant to be used, but he needed to know what was going on.

"Y-yes," the voice called back, "This is deputy Samantha. I repeat, everyone back to the station. Over."

Samantha had been working with them for only one and a half years, and was still easily affected by any gruesome or emotional case. Woodsboro didn't see many serious cases, so when they did, it was a big deal for everyone, but especially for the younger cops.

"What's going on Sam?" he asked.

"I shouldn't say over the radio, sir," she persisted, "Just get down here quickly. Over."

Dewey sighed. Young cops either never followed the rules or always did. Of course, he was still pretty young himself... and Gale always complained that he followed the rules too much too, so he supposed he would be a hypocrite to be angry with Sam for refusing to tell him details over the radio.

It seemed to take ages to get to the station. Dewey assumed the worst, that some new horrific murder had occurred, maybe even a huge bloodbath. He hoped Sidney and Randy were okay... Maybe the killer had turned himself or herself in... But then, Sam's nervousness sounded more frightened than excited...

Finally, he arrived at the station. A few civilians were beginning to crowd around, and two ambulances were sitting next to the station, their lights flashing... Dewey ran up the steps as quickly as his leg allowed him to.

Inside, the scene was chaos. Everyone was talking; some people were screaming. People were rushing around, yelling out orders. Blood was all over the floor. Marcus, the only cop who had been left at the station while the rest went to investigate Bethany's murder and the crime scene was nowhere to be seen. Instead, a blanket was draped over a body in the center of the floor, in the center of a massive pool of blood.

Dewey's heart felt like it stopped. Marcus was a good cop... and a good friend. He looked to Sam, who stood nearby, crying. He assumed the body was indeed that of Marcus, and Sam nodded, confirming his assumption.

Next Dewey had to check on Gale. The scene was such a mess that it was difficult to know what to do first. He looked to the cell where he had locked Gale earlier that evening. His greatest fear was that he'd see another bloodied sheet draped over a body. Fortunately, the sight he saw assured him Gale was very much alive. She was screaming at Jones, who stood in front of the cell, saying something to her, but Dewey couldn't make out what from the distance, and because of all the noise and confusion within the room.

"Gale!" Dewey rushed over to the cell, "what happened?"

He gently pushed Jones to the side, focusing his attention on Gale. She had blood all over her left upper-arm, and all over her opposite hand. The shirt he had given to her was drenched in blood as well. He wanted to hope it wasn't her blood, but logic told him it had to be. It couldn't have been that of Marcus, because Gale was still locked in the cell... He wondered if being locked up had saved her. Perhaps the killer didn't know where they kept the keys, so he tried to kill her but didn't succeed...

"Are you okay?" Dewey asked with urgency, grasping the bars of the cell and staring at Gale. She was shaking, and looked scared. For the moment, she just looked at him without speaking, but looked like she was trying to find words. Dewey looked at the sheriff, "get the key!" he urged.

"It's not where we keep them," the sheriff said calmly, "I was trying to ask Miss Weathers what happened, but she won't talk to me."

"Let me talk to her alone," Dewey requested.

The sheriff threw up his arms in frustration. He scoffed, turned away, and started walking back over towards where Marcus's body was laying.

"Gale," Dewey started, wishing he could be in the cell with her right now. As it was, he couldn't do much to comfort her until they found the key. His suspicion was that the killer did something with it, because he remembered putting it back on the hook where it belonged before he left.

Gale looked up at him and walked up toward the bars. She looked over his shoulder and then back at him, "Dewey," she started, looking like she might cry, "I'm sorry about Marcus... There was nothing I could do."

"Tell me what happened Gale," he looked at her seriously, "Where's the key? Did the killer take it? We need to get you out of there so a doctor can look at your arm, okay?"

Gale nodded, "I don't think it's serious," Gale assured him, looking down at her arm, "I'd have bled to death by now..."

Dewey frowned, "where's the key Gale? Do you know?"

She nodded, "the killer put it in Marcus's pocket," she frowned.

Dewey continued frowning, "Sam!" he called over the other cop.

"Yes sir," She almost jogged over to where Dewey stood. She looked apprehensive about all this. This was probably the most traumatic thing ever to have happened in her life.

"Gale says the killer put the cell's key into Marcus's pocket," Dewey informed her, "you don't have to be the one to get it out, but if you would let Jones or someone know so they could get it, I'd appreciate it."

She nodded and walked back over to the crowd of police officers near the body.

Dewey looked back toward Gale. Then he thought of something important, "was he wearing gloves?" he asked. She shook her head yes. That meant the key couldn't have finger prints on it, "Can I see your arm?" he asked. He was really worried about her. There was a lot of blood that had ran down her arm. Some of it was dry, but not all of it. That meant it was still bleeding rather heavily. There was blood all over the left side of the shirt he had lent her, and he noticed many drops were on the floor as well.

She brought her arm over and stuck it through the bars so he could see. Dewey gripped it gently. The cut didn't look extremely deep, but it did look painful. She might need stitches, but wouldn't be in any danger of dying from it.

"What happened here, Gale?" Dewey asked what he felt like he had already asked way too many times. She had yet to really give him any answer.

Gale inhaled deeply, "I fell asleep," she started, "I called Sidney and told her-" she paused, looking over Dewey's shoulder.

"That you think the sheriff is the killer?" Dewey whispered, "Sid told me. He's not. I can only assure you... He's not that kind of guy. Maybe he can be a bit angry and rude at times, but he's no killer."

"Well..." Gale started again, still not seeming convinced that Jones wasn't involved, "after I made the call, I had nothing to do but sit and wait, so I fell asleep. When I woke up... The killer was in here. In the station. And he was attacking Marcus," Gale's face showed sadness and she looked like she was going to start crying again(Dewey could tell she had been crying before.)

Dewey rubbed her uninjured arm, "it's okay," he assured her, "what happened next?"

Gale's lip trembled, but she continued, "I yelled and pleaded for him to let Marcus go, but he wouldn't listen... Then he came over here... Dewey... I was so scared. I didn't know what to do. He took the key off the wall, and he started unlocking the cell. I didn't know what to do..."

Dewey frowned. He hated seeing Gale so scared. Normally she was so calm and collected, and did her best to keep her emotions seemingly nonexistent. It was a shock to see her so emotional, scared, and vulnerable, "you're okay now," he assured her.

She nodded and continued, "I didn't know what else to do... I couldn't just let him open the door and come in here... I was cornered. He'd have killed me for sure. I tried to hold the door shut, so he couldn't get in... But then he reached into the cell and was waving the knife around like crazy... I stepped back, because he had cut me. I thought for sure he was going to come in all the way. I thought he'd come in and finish me off," she paused and stared at him. She looked like she was going to say more, but she never did.

Dewey's attention was drawn away from Gale when Sam walked up behind him and held out a latex glove, "Sheriff says you shouldn't handle the key without the glove, just in case," she informed him.

Dewey nodded, "Of course," he agreed. He slipped the glove on and then took the key from her. He looked back at Gale, "let's get you out of there."

As he unlocked the door and opened it, Gale walked out slowly. She looked around at the scene as she walked out of the cell. Dewey noticed Gale frown and look a bit like she might faint.

"You okay?" he asked, taking her arm and leading her toward a paramedic who was walking briskly toward them.

"Um hm," she nodded, not looking at him. Her eyes were fixed on the bloody sheet covering the body of the murdered cop.

"Sit down here, Miss," the paramedic instructed.

Dewey stood next to Gale as the paramedic looked her over.

As the medic took Gale's arm in her hands and inspected it, she began asking the reporter some necessary questions, "Do you have any odd sensation around the wound? It isn't numb?"

Gale shook her head, "it stings, but not as bad as it did before," she responded. As soon as she answered, her attention was drawn away, back toward Marcus's body. She was obviously very distracted.

The medic wrapped a bandage around her arm and then looked up at Gale, who wasn't paying any attention to the medic or to herself. "Miss," the paramedic drew her attention back, "is this your only injury?"

"I don't know," Gale mumbled.

The medic took Gale's hands, prompting the reporter to make eye contact, "Miss Weathers," she said calmly. (Obviously Gale was famous enough for the paramedic to recognize her.) "You need to focus, okay? I realize this is traumatic, and you're likely in shock, but I need to assess all of your injuries. Are you hurt anywhere other than your arm."

Gale looked at her for a moment and blinked a few times, as though thinking this question over, "I think it's just my arm," she answered. She breathed in deeply, and exhaled shakily. At that, she winced and gripped her left side. She looked down, likely seeing that her shirt was covered in her own blood. She seemed reluctant to lift it to see if the blood was from another injury or just from the visible one on her arm.

"Gale," Dewey stepped in, "Did you get cut there too?"

She shook her head in confusion, "I don't know... I don't remember that..." She put her hands on her shirt to raise it. Her hands were shaking, and she hesitated for a moment, as if unsure what she'd find. Dewey wondered how she could be so unsure. He supposed if she was really in shock, all the adrenaline may likely be masking her injury.

Finally, she pulled the shirt up far enough to expose a small gash near her ribs. It didn't look nearly as bad as the one on her arm, and for this, Dewey was very grateful.

"Is it bad?" Gale asked, looking, with worry in her eyes, at the paramedic.

The medic touched around the wound gently, "this is a very minor injury," she assured her. Then she continued, "we can bandage this one up easily," she indicated the one on Gale's ribs, "but the one on your arm is much deeper. It's not serious," she added when Gale's eyes widened, "but I think it would be best if we give you a few stitches and some pain killers."

Gale nodded. Dewey wondered how much of this was sinking in. Gale still looked a bit out of it.

"We can take you in the ambulance to the hospital. It'll be about thirty minutes, since Woodsboro doesn't have a hospital. The nearest one-" the medic was cut off by Gale.

"I know," she said, "I've been to Woodsboro many times. I know the area pretty well."

"Great," the medic smiled, probably glad that Gale was speaking instead of staring off behind her at the gruesome scene in the station, "I'll walk you out to the ambulance."

"I'm coming with you," Dewey offered. He didn't want to let Gale out of his sight again. She could have been killed tonight... Twice... And that wasn't a risk he was willing to keep taking.

"Dwight!" he heard the Sheriff call before they could leave. He looked over at his superior, "Dwight," he sheriff repeated, "I need to question her. She's the only witness."

Gale glared at him, "you don't still think I did this, do you? Are you insane?"

The sheriff raised his eyebrow, "You didn't do this one; that's for sure... Those two boys last time worked together... You could have an accomplice. How convenient for you that you're always at the crime scene as a victim, yet never actually get killed..."

"Would you stop that?" Dewey hissed, putting his hand lightly on Gale's shoulder and pushing her gently back so that she wouldn't lunge at the sheriff. She was beginning to look like she just might, "You've got no evidence she did anything... I'll get her side of the story at the hospital, okay?"

Sheriff Jones rolled his eyes and crossed his arms over his chest, "don't let your bias get in the way of this, Dwight."

"We have no reason to believe there's more than one killer, Sheriff. She didn't do anything... I know you don't like her," he whispered, even though he was certain Gale could hear him, "but that doesn't mean she's a killer. She's guilty of leaking information through the press, but not of murder, and you know that. I'm not bringing her back to the station. We've got no reason to keep her here."

The sheriff didn't argue. He knew Dewey was right. Instead, he just nodded, "Take her witness statement down on paper, Dwight. She may be your girlfriend, but she's also a witness, and you should treat this matter seriously."

"Will do, sir," Dewey assured him, hoping he wasn't angry. He knew the sheriff was being a bit harsh toward Gale, but he still respected the man, and didn't want him to be upset with him.

He took Gale's arm and led her toward the door, hoping both she and the sheriff would keep their mouths closed long enough that he wouldn't have to break up any more of their fights.

As they walked out of the station, they were greeted a swarm of media and an interested crowd of civilians. Dewey could hear whispers, some of them distinctly mentioning Gale's name. "Gale Weathers!" one reporter stepped up, shoving a microphone toward Gale, "what's going on in the station? Why are there two ambulances?"

As they made their way to the ambulance more reporters bombarded them with questions as well.

"Has there been another murder?"

"Officer, could you tell us what's happened? Have you made an arrest? Has someone confessed?"

"Miss Weathers, did the killer come after you? Do you think he'll come after you again and try to finish the job?"

At this, Gale turned on this reporter, "why don't you mind your own god-damned business?" She scowled as she pushed the camera away and continued walking, climbing into the ambulance.

Dewey followed her and sat down next to her. He was amazed at her reaction to reporters. It was baffling. She was a reporter too, guilty of every rude thing a reporter could do to someone. She'd ambush people, hurt their feelings, cause arguments... Yet when another reporter did it to her, she was completely offended, "Don't listen to them, Gale," Dewey smiled slightly, "reporters can be so insensitive." He was trying to assure her she wouldn't be killed, but was trying a bit of humor as well.

At first, Dewey thought his comment had offended the reporter, because she just stared at him for a moment. Sometimes it was impossible to tell what she was thinking, and now was one of those times. After a brief moment, however, she smiled.

This prompted Dewey to smile back. Then he turned more serious, "Gale, I want you to stay with me tonight," he offered.

Gale frowned. She looked reluctant, "You don't still live with your mother do you?" he asked.

Dewey sighed, "living with your parents when you're still a young adult is nothing to be ashamed of..."

Gale rolled her eyes, "You're kidding me..."

Dewey grinned, "yeah," he laughed, "I moved out while you and I were still dating... I guess you didn't really listen to me very well."

"It didn't help that you never invited me over," Gale frowned. She must have sensed that she had just created an awkward moment, because Dewey didn't have to try to come up with a response before she spoke again, "Anyway, yes," she said, "I accept your invitation."

"Oh," Dewey smiled, feeling nervous again, as he often did when Gale was anywhere around him, "good."

"You probably should have taken your police cruiser to the hospital so we'd have a way to get back to Woodsboro," Gale frowned.

"And leave you alone?" Dewey raised his eyebrows, "no chance. I've let you out of my sight for the last time. The killer could have killed you twice Gale... I don't mean to scare you," he interrupted himself, hoping Gale wouldn't hate him for what he was saying.

"You're not scaring me, Dewey. Stating the obvious isn't scary," Gale frowned.

"Well... He (or she) had the opportunity to kill you twice now. I don't know what he's waiting for. Maybe he doesn't want to kill you at all... But what if he does? And he (again, or she... or they) could be anyone," he leaned in close to her and whispered, "even the paramedics..."

Gale laughed, "I get what you're saying," she told him, "you don't trust anyone."

"That's right," Dewey smirked, "well... with what's going on now anyway... I mean, I trust people... just not so much lately."

"Trusting people only ends in disappointment," Gale looked up at him.

Dewey frowned, "Sometimes, I guess... But you trust me, right? And I've never disappointed you..."

Gale smiled, "you're the least disappointing person I know," she told him.

"You too," he squeezed her hand. It wasn't entirely true. She disappointed him a lot before he knew what to expect with her, but all of the good times they had made it well worth it, "it's you and me against the world, Gale." he grinned.

She just laughed and shook her head. She didn't like sappy talk like that. It sounded stupid even to him, but he really meant it. He wanted to say so many sappy things to her, like that he'd protect her from anyone and everyone, that he never wanted to risk losing her again... He just kept his sappy thoughts to himself though.

"We'll get you all patched up and then we'll be hidden away at home. Doors and windows locked..." he smiled.

Gale frowned, "patched up..." she repeated, looking down at her arm and sticking her lower lip out a little, "do you think it will leave a scar?"

Dewey frowned, "no worse than mine," he smirked a little.

So did she.

xxxxxx


	9. Questions

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a note if you're interested: When I originally published this, my computer screwed me and deleted a lot of what I had written for this story and I got mad and abandoned it for three years. This was the first chapter I posted upon returning to it. I don't know if there's a noticeable change in the writing or not.

xxxxxx

Gale sat quietly on the end of the couch in Dewey's living room. With her feet up on the cushion and her knees drawn up against her chest, she hugged her legs and peered out the window. All she could see outside was darkness.

She had wanted to give Dewey her official witness statement at the hospital. They were certainly left in the waiting room long enough that they had had plenty of time for it. But Dewey wanted to make sure no one overheard anything. He seemed much more paranoid than usual. So they had sat in silence for the most part, saving the serious conversation for later.

Gale had received four stitches in her arm as well as some pain killers. The small scratch over her abdomen only required a bandage. Gale was still surprised at herself for not noticing that it was even there at first. She must have been more traumatized than even she realized. The deeper cut on her arm mixed with the fact that she had just witnessed a brutal murder made the smaller wound not seem to matter so much. With all the commotion, she hadn't even realized she'd been cut there. But she was all patched up now. Her injuries were the least of her concerns.

After they had finished their business at the hospital, Dewey had arranged a ride for them back to his house. Since everyone in Woodsboro seemed to be friends with each other, it hadn't been difficult at all for him to find someone to drive them home.

Dewey had bought a small house just outside of the actual town. It kind of made Gale nervous that there weren't really any houses nearby. The closest neighbor was probably a ten minute trek down a basically deserted road, which would be a very long walk if the killer had happened to follow her and Dewey out here.

Surely if the murderer was from Woodsboro, they would know exactly where Dewey lived. Everyone in this town knew everyone's business. It was almost like each citizen of Woodsboro was a mini celebrity. Every single other person in the town knew everything about any other given individual. If Dewey was a target, which he probably was, the killer would know exactly where he would be most vulnerable. Right here in his own secluded home. Gale shuddered to think about the fact that Dewey probably spent most nights here all alone. The killer could have easily started his or her massacre with Dewey.

The reporter continued to stare out the window as all of her thoughts and fears cluttered her mind. What would she do if Dewey got killed? Their relationship wasn't perfect - they argued all the time - but she really did care about him. In fact, she would even go so far to say that she loved him. It was a terrifying feeling, to care more about someone else than herself, but she certainly felt that way when she was around the boyish officer. Dewey felt like he needed to protect her, but she needed to protect him too. As a police officer, Dewey was often closer to the killer than anyone else was. It was Dewey's job to find this person. If he got himself killed in the process, Gale would never forgive herself for not somehow keeping him safe.

"I don't actually have any sugar," she heard Dewey call out from the kitchen, "I could have sworn I did, but maybe I was thinking of salt. I don't go shopping that often."

Gale smirked. Dewey was so adorable. Sometimes she wasn't sure how his brain worked, "just milk is fine, Dewey," she responded. He was making her hot tea. She didn't usually put sugar in her tea anyway.

"Do you want, uh-" Dewey paused and she heard him opening and closing cabinets, "crackers or something? Toast?" he offered.

"Just tea, Dewey," Gale sighed. She really wanted him to get back in here so they'd be in the same room at least. She was understandably still a bit on edge.

"Alright," he answered, carrying two coffee cups into the living room and handing one to Gale. He paused awkwardly as he stood in front of her. He appeared nervous as he bit his lower lip, "may I?" he gestured toward the seat next to her.

Gale couldn't help but smile to herself, "it's your house, Dewey," she raised her eyebrow up at him, "you don't need to ask my permission to sit on your own couch."

"I know," Dewey looked down at his feet, "I just-" he hesitated, "I didn't want-"

"Just sit down," she tugged lightly on his arm so he'd sit down next to her. The man was honestly the most awkward person she had ever met.

Dewey settled into the couch and looked silently at the wall.

Gale wrapped her fingers around the warm mug in her hands and stared ahead at the wall as well.

"I'm sorry I asked to meet you at the park," Dewey finally spoke, "that's been bothering me all night. I don't know why I thought that was a good place for us to meet. It was getting dark, and I knew that there was a murderer on the loose... It was irresponsible and completely stupid of me to tell you to meet me there. You could have been killed. I'm so sorry."

Gale shook her head, "it's fine. I didn't think anything of it either. When I first arrived at the park, there were still people jogging. I wasn't all alone. It didn't seem so dangerous."

"I don't want to be separated from you again, Gale," Dewey frowned.

Gale smiled, "believe me, Dewey. I don't want you to leave my sight either."

She could see Dewey was blushing slightly as he looked down again, "I guess we need to go over what happened tonight, while it's still fresh in your memory," he changed the subject, "your witness statement is kind of an important one. No one else who's still alive has been so close to the killer... at least not anyone who knows that it's the killer anyway..."

Gale nodded. She was lucky to be alive, "Dewey, now that I think about it, I don't think he wanted to kill me. At the time, I thought he did. He was swinging the knife at me... I thought he was going to kill me for sure. But if he wanted me dead, he was more than capable of just doing it... I'm not sure why he keeps sparing my life, but he's been close enough to kill me twice now, only he didn't do it," she frowned. It was certainly not a good feeling knowing that her life had twice been in the hands of someone who wasn't opposed to mercilessly killing teenaged girls. Whoever the killer was didn't seem to have much empathy, so why hadn't he killed her? She looked into Dewey's eyes, "I thought he really was going to kill me. He had the key to my cell, Dewey, and he was trying to open it. He had the opportunity. No one else was around. He had the chance to kill me, and he didn't take it."

"But he did attack you, Gale," Dewey reminded her, gesturing toward her bandaged arm.

"Not to kill me though," Gale theorized. If he had wanted to kill me, it would have been so easy. I was unarmed, and caged... He could have just unlocked the cell and come in to finish the job. I was cornered. He didn't want to kill me. At least not yet. What does that mean, Dewey? What's he waiting for? Or is it someone I know? Someone who really doesn't want me dead at all..."

"I don't know, Gale," Dewey frowned, "did he say anything? Did he do anything else that you remember as being odd? Or just anything at all noteworthy? Was there anything else about him that we could use to connect the dots and figure out who he might be?" He was jotting down notes as she spoke. It was, after all, his job to investigate crimes like this.

Gale nearly gasped as she remembered something, "he did say something," she remarked in a soft voice, "his voice was masked by something. It didn't sound like a normal person's voice, but he did say something. He said something to Marcus... Something about making it quick. He said he'd try to make his death quick, or something equivalent to that... That's almost merciful..." she looked questioningly over at Dewey, "he stabbed Marcus first, and then Marcus tried to get away, and he pleaded, and I pleaded for him to let Marcus go..." she felt tears forming in her eyes as she remembered, but didn't let them fall. She didn't want Dewey to see her cry. She sniffed back her tears quickly and continued, "and he looked down at Marcus and told him he'd make it quick, like he wasn't killing him because he wanted him dead, but because he felt he had to for whatever reason. Maybe Marcus was a warning or an example. Maybe the killer knew Marcus and liked him..."

Dewey nodded, "that's interesting... I wouldn't figure this killer would show mercy to anyone. Even so small a merciful action as killing someone quickly instead of slowly."

"This furthers my suspicion that it's the sheriff, Dewey," Gale raised her eyebrows at him, "he hates me. Maybe he killed Marcus to show me what he's capable of, and didn't kill me yet because he wants me to have to live in fear and suffer first."

"He wouldn't do that, Gale," Dewey frowned, "besides, he came with me to the crime scene."

"Was he there the whole time?" Gale wondered.

Dewey paused for a moment. He looked like he was thinking back, "yeah," he finally nodded, "well... no... He left to get coffee, but he was only gone for like fifteen, twenty minutes tops."

"That's long enough, Dewey, and you know it," Gale stared at him.

Dewey shook his head, "I just can't picture him killing anyone Gale. I know this isn't going to convince you, but I know him. lots of people came and went from that crime scene. The fact that he wasn't there the whole time doesn't convince me that he was up to anything. He even brought coffee back... so if he had gone to the station and killed Marcus, he would have also needed to stop somewhere for coffee."

"The killer was taller than I am," Gale continued analyzing what she had witnessed. She didn't see a point in continuing to try to convince Dewey that his captain might be a murderer. The man was simply not going to believe it. Instead, Gale would tell Dewey what she witnessed tonight, and let the evidence speak for itself, "it's impossible to say for sure, but I think it was a man. He just seemed bigger than a woman would be."

Dewey nodded, "Gale, it seems like everyone he's killed so far has just been to set examples or to lure people to him. He flat out told Martha that she was bait to get the so-called 'Woodsboro Gang' back in town. He killed Bethany to show you that he was paying attention... I'm not sure why he'd kill Marcus... Maybe that one was for me, since I worked with him. Everyone in town is in danger, but it seems like it's all building up to something, and that something is probably going to bring us all back together - all the people who were involved in the original murders... That's you, me, Randy, and Sid."

"Does anyone that you know of have something to gain from killing the four of us?" Gale wondered, "I barely even know anyone in Woodsboro... There has got to be a connection we aren't seeing. If you don't think it's Jones, then who do you think it might be?" she wondered.

"I don't know, Gale," Dewey looked hesitant, "I don't want to point fingers when I don't have the evidence to back it up."

"This is just between you and me, Dewey. No one else will ever know if you point a finger at them," Gale assured him, "trust me; I'm not going to be doing any more reporting for a while..."

Dewey sighed, "alright," he gave in, "but this is off the record... and I mean that. If I hear about this on the news-"

"You won't Dewey," Gale looked into his eyes, "I'm promising you."

"Okay," Dewey took a sip of his tea and settled back against the couch, "Everyone's a suspect, of course. Everyone but me, anyway, since I'm the only person I know with one hundred percent certainty didn't kill anyone. But some people are standing out as suspects more than others... and It's not enough to pursue them seriously, but I do want to take some of them in for questioning, maybe tomorrow," he started.

Gale sipped her tea as she quietly listened, eager to finally hear his thoughts. Dewey didn't always seem like he knew what was going on around him, but he certainly was no fool. He could be a very strong voice of reason at times. He may have very likely made some observation that had passed right by Gale.

"First, and most obvious, are Martha's friends Heather and Kayla. Now, Kayla is quite a bit smaller than what I'd expect the killer to be, especially when I consider that you saw the killer and describe him or her as tall, but we don't know that there is only one killer, so she can't be excluded. Heather, on the other hand, is taller, though still a teenaged girl. I wouldn't describe her as physically imposing. I wouldn't think a teenaged girl would be physically capable of murder, but people become a lot more capable when you put a knife in their hand," he explained, "their blood was at the crime scene, but not enough that I'd be sure that they're dead. Especially in Heather's case. There wasn't much of her blood at all. If she wanted to appear innocent, she could have cut herself on purpose, dripped blood on the floor, and then ran off to claim her next victim."

Gale nodded. She really didn't think the girls were still alive, but she acknowledged that they might be, and that certainly made them suspects.

"The next suspect, still somewhat obvious, is Cotton Weary," Dewey spoke, "and this is off the record, Gale," he reminded her. She nodded and waited for him to continue, "he's been living in Woodsboro, but has done several television interviews since being released from prison. All that's sort of dying down for him now. Maybe he wasn't ready to be forgotten yet. Maybe he wants to draw attention back here so that he can get his fame back."

Gale narrowed her eyes. That made some sense. Cotton certainly was a big deal to the media back a few years ago, and they had all but forgotten him by this point. He would get more attention if say, he was a survivor of a second Woodsboro killing spree. But Gale didn't think Cotton would do something like this. She had worked so hard to prove his innocence before. She had gotten to know him, and she certainly couldn't picture him killing anyone, for any amount of fame, "I don't think Cotton's the killer, Dewey," Gale disagreed, "he's just misunderstood. He's an odd guy. People don't know what to think of him."

"Sid told me he was being kind of creepy," Dewey noted, "she said that when she got here this morning, she was walking down the sidewalk and he sort of stalked her until she was forced to talk to him. Said he wanted her to apologize to him..."

Sighing, Gale put her coffee cup on the table in front of the couch and turned back toward Dewey, "he was falsely accused of rape and murder. He spent time in prison for it. I'd want an apology too. He certainly comes across the wrong way at times, but he's not a killer."

"He was at the crime scene too," he noted, "but then I lost track of him at some point. He could have gone to the police station when he realized most of the officers wouldn't be there. Like I said, Gale," Dewey continued, "these are just suspects. And everyone is a suspect... Just some more than others. Some of my friends make my suspect list too."

"Does Jones?" Gale raised her eyebrow.

Dewey shook his head, "he wouldn't kill someone, Gale."

"Neither would Cotton," Gale frowned.

"Fine," Dewey gave in, "Jones is a suspect too, but I can't exactly question him... and I don't know what his motive would be."

"Maybe to be the hero? To frame someone else, 'catch' that person, and save the day? Maybe he wants to get his fifteen minutes of fame?" Gale speculated, "I'm sure his job has been pretty boring over the past two years."

Dewey shrugged, "I guess..."

"You've got to be careful around him, Dewey," Gale urged, "I know you trust him, but I don't. Would you want me hanging out around Cotton when you don't know for sure that he's not the killer?"

"Well, no..." Dewey frowned, "of course not."

"You and I should stick together until we figure this out," Gale suggested.

Dewey nodded and placed his coffee mug on the table next to Gale's.

Gale frowned and looked up at him, "the killer could be pretty much anyone, Dewey... And whoever it is, they're smart. They wear gloves, conceal their voice, strike when people are alone... I have a feeling we're not going to catch this guy until he wants us to."

Dewey scooted closer to her and put his arm awkwardly up over the back of the couch, "we'll catch him, Gale," he assured her, hesitating and then moving his arm back down to his side, "we're ready for him. I have a gun. All he has is a knife."

Gale reached over and took Dewey's hand. She maneuvered his arm back up and around her shoulders. She never could understand why he acted like a scared fourteen year old boy on his first date whenever he was around her.

He wrapped his arm more snugly around her and put his hand lightly on her knee.

Gale looked up at him. He looked nervous and she noticed his eyes moving down to stare at her lips. She hoped he would kiss her, but maybe he didn't perceive now to be a good time... Or maybe he was too nervous. Maybe he thought she would get mad at him if he tried to kiss her. He worried too much, and she didn't want to have to come out and ask him... So she closed her eyes, hoping he'd take the hint.

Only seconds passed before she felt his lips on hers. The kiss was gentle, short, and sweet.

Opening her eyes, Gale looked up at him with a smile on her face. He was smirking as well, a half-embarrassed smirk, but she could tell he was happy. His cheeks were flushed and he averted his eyes almost immediately.

Gale reached over and hugged him, very relieved when he hugged her back, "I'm going to keep you safe, Dewey," Gale promised, "I don't know what I'd do if something happened to you."

Dewey hugged her tighter, "you too, Gale," he said in a small voice, "you've had two too many close calls."

Smiling, Gale settled against his chest and simply stayed there. He leaned back as far as the couch would allow, but kept his arms around her. They stayed like that at least until Gale fell asleep.

xxxxxx


	10. Breakfast at Gloria's

xxxxxx

Randy sat alone at a table at Woodsboro's local cafe. He was supposed to meet Sid here in fifteen minutes, but he had arrived early. His house was currently full of relatives trying to help, but most of them were more bothersome than comforting. He recognized that they felt empathy and sympathy for him and his family. He recognized that they were saddened by Martha's death too. But he didn't find any reason to sit around sulking along with them. He needed to get out of there, so first thing in the morning, he called up Sid and asked her to come to breakfast with him.

"I can get you something on the house if you'd like," the waitress offered. She knew exactly who he was and exactly why he had come back into town. She was one of many who was treating him with care and being overly nice to him out of pity. This girl, Gloria, had gone to school with him, though she was a few years older than he was.

"No thanks, Gloria," Randy smiled up at her, "I'm waiting for someone; She'll be here in a few minutes."

He noticed Gloria's eyes light up, "girlfriend?" she wondered.

Randy laughed, "I wish."

"Oh," Gloria frowned, "well... Let me know if you need anything. I've got a batch of banana nut muffins that just came out of the oven."

"I guess I'll have some coffee while I wait," he decided.

Gloria smiled as though she had just won some sort of victory, "right away," she dashed off.

Randy looked across the street at a lady walking her dog. People were acting like everything was normal. Of course, to many, everything was normal. They knew a killer was at large, but no one they really cared about had died. They were content to live their lives as they normally would during the day, and go into hiding in their locked homes at night.

"That's him," Randy heard someone whisper from somewhere behind him, "Martha's brother."

"No it's not," another voice countered, "he's at university. He went with Sidney. To Windship or something."

"Windsor," the other voice sounded annoyed, "and it is him. He must have come back when he heard the news."

Randy fought the urge to turn toward the voices to see who was speaking. It was probably just high school girls in his sister's grade. He likely wouldn't know them even if he looked, so he simply ignored them. He glanced over at another table, where a teenaged couple sat together sipping cappuccinos.

"I can't believe they aren't canceling school," one of them whined, "there were two more murders last night, you know. Five people have died in the last two days."

"Actually it's just three... confirmed anyway," the other teenager spoke, "they don't know if the other two girls are actually dead. I think they did it. They want the fame that Billy and Stu got. You know it's true. I wouldn't know who either of them even are if they hadn't gone on a murdering spree. And face it, Heather and Kayla are kind of losers. They probably want attention, and they'll get it if they kill a bunch of people."

"They seemed really nice though," the other disagreed, "I bet the killer is someone who isn't even from Woodsboro. Probably just a random guy. He'll pass through town, go on his way, and we'll never even know who it as in the end."

Randy sighed to himself. He couldn't escape reality. This was all anyone wanted to talk about. He couldn't say he blamed them. Woodsboro was a pretty boring place on a normal day. This certainly gave the town something to gossip about.

He looked around some more as he continued to wait for Sidney. At the far table closest to the sidewalk sat Sheriff Jones. He was speaking very softly to a young officer who Randy didn't know. The other officer seemed distressed. The sheriff was holding her hands and whispering something. Maybe they were discussing the other police officer who was murdered last night. They were probably friends with him.

"Randy," he heard a smile in Sidney's voice. Randy looked toward the sound and watched as she walked up the sidewalk and between the clusters of tables toward him.

"Hey, Sid," Randy stood up and offered her a hug.

She hugged him back and they each sat down, "how have you been holding up, Randy?" Sidney asked with concern evident on her features.

"Totally fine, Sid," Randy assured her. He really didn't want her to be worried about him. He also kind of didn't want to talk about his sister. That's all anyone wanted to talk about to him. They all wanted to know that he was doing okay. Of course he wasn't. But nothing was going to bring her back. No amount of talking was going to make the murder of a fourteen year old girl alright. So he changed the subject, "did you hear about the cop that got killed last night?"

Sidney frowned, "yeah," she said in a small voice, "and Gale was there. The killer attacked her too."

"She alright?"Randy wondered.

"Yeah," Sidney nodded, "Dewey thinks the killer wasn't really trying to kill her. Gale was in a holding cell and the killer took the key and put it in Marcus's pocket. He could have killed her so easily, but he didn't."

They paused their conversation when Gloria returned with Randy's coffee, "here you are, sir," She spoke in an overly chipper voice, "anything for you, Miss?" She turned toward Sidney, "on the house?"

"I'll have a cup of coffee as well, thank you," Sidney smiled.

"Be right back," Gloria beamed and darted off again.

Sidney turned back toward Randy, "she's awfully cheerful today," she noted.

Randy shrugged and then jumped right back into the topic at hand, "do you think the killer is someone close to Gale? Or maybe Gale herself?" Randy raised his eyebrow, "No one else has crossed paths with this mystery killer and lived to tell the tale."

Sidney shook her head, "Gale can be ruthless sometimes, but she's not a killer."

"What about Dewey?" Randy wondered, "If anyone would be willing to kill a bunch of people, but draw the line at Gale, it would be him. I don't know that there are many people out there who would show Gale more mercy than they'd show anyone else. She doesn't necessarily come across as likable to most people."

"No, Randy," Sidney seemed almost offended, "Dewey would never hurt anyone. He's probably the nicest, most gentle person I know."

"Fair enough," Randy dropped the subject. Dewey was a plausible suspect to him, but he didn't want to upset Sidney, "whoever it is, they're getting really bold, going right into the police station and killing an officer like that. Police carry guns, you know..."

"Everyone had gone to the crime scene at the park," Sidney commented, "the killer must have known that. He or she saw an opportunity and took it. It couldn't have been Gale though. I think we can rule her out as a suspect. She was locked in the cell, and probably checked for weapons before they locked her up."

"Who do you think it is?" Randy wondered.

Sidney shrugged, "it could be anyone. Maybe it doesn't even really involve us this time. I haven't received any strange calls or anything. Have you?"

"No," Randy answered, "though I'm not usually at home, and I don't have a cell phone. If the killer's been trying to reach me, he's probably not having any luck. Probably gets my dad on the line and then just hangs up."

"Gale did report that the killer said something about "the 'Woodsboro Gang' though... He killed Martha to bring the 'gang' back into town... I would assume you would have to be a part of that, since she's your sister," Sidney noted, "whoever the killer is, they are for some reason interested in you at the very least."

Randy nodded, and was about to say something more when he was distracted by a sudden movement across the dining area. The sheriff and the younger officer he had noticed earlier stood up quite suddenly as one of their radios made an indecipherable sound. Randy never could understand how the police comprehended anything said over those grainy radios.

He and Sidney watched as the two rushed over to the police car parked along the sidewalk, turned on their siren, and sped off.

"You wanna go see what's going on?" Randy wondered as he glanced back at Sidney.

Sidney hesitated, "I don't know..."

"Come on, Sid... This stuff is important," Randy begged, "and you're the one with a car."

"It's really not our business, Randy," she disagreed.

"It kind of is," Randy noted, "if there's a killer out there who possibly has you on their radar, don't you want to stay informed?"

"This might not even be about that," Sidney frowned, "maybe there's someone speeding or something..."

"You think they're gonna drop everything, turn on their siren, and speed off like that for someone not following the speed limit?" Randy raised his eyebrow.

Sidney sighed, "alright," she finally agreed, "but we'll observe from a distance."

Randy put a few dollars down on the table. Gloria had said his coffee would be on the house, but he didn't really like accepting sympathy gifts, so he wanted to pay for it anyway, "let's go," he said, following behind Sidney as they walked toward her car.

"I hope no one else has been killed, Randy," Sidney frowned as she climbed into her car, "I just want all this to be over. Maybe they caught the killer. That would explain the rush they were in."

"I hope so too, Sid," Randy agreed. He hoped the killer had been caught and that all this could be put to rest, but he seriously doubted that was the case. This killer was smart. He successfully murdered a cop inside the police station. He wasn't going to get caught this easily. He didn't want to say this to Sidney, but it seemed to him that this was far from over.

xxxxxx


	11. Hanging Out at School

xxxxxx

Sidney felt nervous as she drove down the road in the direction the sheriff and officer had gone. She wanted to hope that the killer had been caught and that the reason the cops were rushing away was to properly arrest him or her, but she certainly didn't want to set her hopes too high only to be disappointed. If this massacre was anything like the one she had lived through two years ago, it wasn't going to be wrapped up so easily. It was already pretty clear that this wasn't just one random guy who killed an unlucky group of teenagers. This person had killed two more people yesterday, and according to Gale, he wore the same mask the killer had worn before. It was looking like this was going to be quite an ordeal.

"He turned left up here, Sid," Randy told her as he gestured toward a road up ahead.

Sidney followed Randy's instructions and turned left on the road. The sheriff seemed to have been heading toward the high school. It was sunday, so school was not in session... She wondered what could be going on... It was entirely possible this had nothing to do with the killings. Maybe someone had just broken into the school or something.

"Looks like they're going to the school," Sidney told Randy as she continued driving toward the sirens and flashing lights.

"Brings back a lot of memories, doesn't it?" Randy noted, "when I left Woodsboro, I kind of never wanted to come back..."

"I know how you feel," Sidney agreed, "I even told my dad that he should move so I wouldn't have to come back even to visit him," she offered a dry laugh as she pulled into the high school's parking lot, "If I had never set foot in this town again, it would have been too soon. Any of the good memories are drowned by all of the bad ones..."

She glanced at Randy who was frowning back at her, but who didn't say anything.

"I'm sorry," Sidney sighed, "the memories are just flooding back every time I turn a corner, and a lot of them are certainly not good memories... Tatum and I used to walk this way to school, but Tatum was also murdered in this town. It's hard to smile about the good times I had with her when at the same time I remember seeing her crushed in that garage door... I remember going to school every day and being so happy to see my friends, and I remember going back to school after Billy and Stu... and most of my friends weren't there anymore. I can't remember the good things without the painful memories clouding them over."

"I know," Randy agreed.

Sidney reached over and squeezed his hand, but kept her eyes on the lot as she drove through it to find a suitable space away from the police, but close enough to observe what was happening, "Tatum, Billy, and Stu were your friends too," Sidney spoke in a soft voice, "and now you've lost Martha as well. This town is cursed."

"It is for us at least," Randy forced a laugh.

Sidney glanced at him again, offering him a smile that was only half-forced. At least they were in this together. If anyone could understand how Sidney felt, it would be Randy. They hadn't suffered the same misfortunes exactly, but had both been very close to the killers last time, and had both lost friends and family in the massacre.

As she finally settled on a parking space, Sidney looked across the nearly empty lots toward the flashing lights. The police car, with its lights still on, was parked in one of the student parking lots. Sidney had parked a fair distance away.

She turned the car off and looked over at Randy, "thank you for asking me to come back with you, Randy," she spoke, "I wouldn't have wanted you to face all this alone."

Randy smiled, "thank you for coming."

Sidney breathed in and shook her head, trying to rid her mind of all its troubles. She peered out over the empty lot between the one where she and Randy were parked and the one where Sheriff Jones had parked. Another police car was parked next to his in the distance.

"Can you see anything?" Randy asked as he peered through the car's windows as well.

Sidney shook her head, "not really."

"Let's go check it out," Randy suggested.

Sidney hesitated. What if the killer had been spotted and they were looking for him? Getting out of the car might be dangerous. She looked around as a few more cars arrived at the school. One was a police car, which drove toward the other two already here. The others were civilians, who were beginning to follow Sidney's lead, parking their cars and gawking at the scene. Woodsboro was a small town. Everyone was into everyone else's business, and this was no exception. Sidney and Randy weren't the only people to notice the sheriff and deputy drive off with their siren blaring. She supposed it couldn't be too dangerous to get out of the car now that other people were there.

She stepped out of the car and waited for Randy to do the same, "we'll still keep our distance, Randy," Sidney advised, "I don't want us getting in anyone's way."

"Sidney?" she heard Dewey's voice and turned toward the sound.

"Dewey!" she rushed over to him. Gale was standing next to him, looking uncharacteristically awkward, as though she was unsure what to do with herself. She was dressed in an oversized t-shirt and sweatpants, most likely belonging to Dewey. She must have spent the night at the officer's house after her run-in- with the killer last night.

"Gale, I heard what happened... Are you alright?" Sidney asked. She knew Gale was physically okay because she had spoken to Dewey on the phone last night, but she still hadn't spoken with Gale directly. Only Gale herself could confirm that she was really, honestly doing alright.

Gale nodded, "I'm fine," she answered simply, "just a couple scratches."

"Good," Sidney put her hand lightly on Gale's uninjured arm. The reporter seemed physically okay, but she did have a look in her eyes that betrayed that she wasn't entirely at ease, and of course she wouldn't be after being witness to a murder and narrowly escaping death herself. Sidney offered a small smile and squeezed Gale's arm gently, "we were worried about you."

"Thanks, Sidney," Gale smiled a smile that actually looked genuine, "I'll be alright."

"I know you will be," Sidney smiled. Gale was tough. The reporter wasn't one to give in to fear or threats, and while she hadn't reported on anything since last night, Sidney imagined Gale would be back to her old self in a matter of days. The threats and close call were still fresh in her mind, so she was laying low. Sidney could see that she had been scared, as anyone would be. But Gale was not the kind of person to back down, no matter what the circumstances. Sidney would probably see Gale anchoring more morally questionable news reports on television within no time, "be careful, Gale," Sidney added. Gale wasn't always Sidney's favorite person, in fact, the reporter was one of the few people Sidney had actually punched in the face during her lifetime, but she wasn't a bad person, and Sidney honestly did want her to stay safe.

"I'm sticking with Dewey," Gale informed her, "no more hanging out in the park at night or getting arrested," she offered a sarcastic laugh.

"Sheriff Jones never should have arrested you, Gale," Sidney frowned, "he can come across as kind of callous sometimes... but he means well."

Gale laughed and shook her head, "everyone's paranoid, accusing anyone and everyone of this. I notice I'm the only one who's been arrested," she glanced toward Dewey, "but I'm not the only person who's been suspected. We're gonna catch this guy, Sidney."

"Isn't that Dewey's job?" Randy butted in.

"I'm the only person who has seen the killer and lived to provide a witness statement," Gale persisted, "I know just as much about this guy as Dewey does... if not more."

"We'll all work toward figuring this out," Sidney stepped in, not wanting Gale and Randy to get into an argument, "I think it's safe to say this case is personal to all of us. We'll let the cops do what they need to, but every little helps. I'm sure Dewey wouldn't be opposed to hearing any theory any of us have on who the killer might be," She turned her attention back to Dewey and back toward the scene - the reason why they came here in the first place, "what's going on here, Dewey?" she wondered.

Dewey hesitated, "Sid, you and Randy might not want to see this," he advised, "You too, Gale... Maybe you guys should all hang back."

"I can handle it, Dewey," Gale's voice sounded strong and determined. She likely already knew what was over behind the school. She and Dewey had arrived here together. Gale likely knew a lot more than Dewey should have ever let a reporter notorious for prying too far into her stories know.

"What is it, Dewey?" Sidney asked again, staring hard into his eyes.

The officer hesitated, "this hasn't been made public yet," he shuffled his feet.

"With all due respect, Dewey..." Randy began, gesturing toward the growing crowd near the school, "the public is all right over there watching," he noted.

Dewey sighed, "a jogger found two bodies this morning," he finally said in a very matter-of-fact tone.

"Oh my god," Sidney felt her heart sink, "do you think it's the same killer?"

Dewey frowned and nodded his head, "yeah. It is."

Sidney took a step forward and tried to see something in all the commotion in the distance, "how do you know it's the same murderer? Were they stabbed? Who are they?"

"I think we have a right to see what's going on," Randy spoke from behind her, "look, everyone else is over there," he gestured toward the crowd. They seemed to be looking off somewhere behind the school. A cop had put up police tape, but everyone crowded around it and was gazing off, whispering, and chatting among themselves.

"You've got to keep this quiet, and I'm sure you will," Dewey started, "but it's Martha's friends," he looked sympathetically over to Randy, "Heather and Kayla."

Sidney closed her eyes and exhaled, "I guess that means neither of them is the killer... I didn't think they could be."

"Yeah," Dewey frowned.

"Well, I want to see for myself," Randy grumbled as he started toward the crowd.

"Randy," Sidney called after him as she began to follow.

"I've got to see for myself, Sidney," he persisted.

Sidney sighed as she trudged along behind him, "how is that going to help?" she asked, "there's nothing you can do, Randy," she supposed she could chalk this up to him not being in his right mind due to stress, but he wasn't turning back around. He was determined to see with his own eyes what had happened.

Dewey and Gale were following behind them as well. In a matter of seconds, the four of them found themselves looking at the scene a fair amount of the community had been gazing at for the past few minutes, and it certainly wasn't a pretty picture.

Sidney gasped in horror as she comprehended what she was looking at. Two slim bodies swung gently in the breeze as they were hung with thick ropes by their necks, dangling from the branch of a large oak tree behind the school. They were indeed Heather and Kayla. Sidney recognized them because they had sometimes been at Randy's house when Sidney had visited him. The girls were dressed in light-colored pajamas, which were stained a dark red, which was most likely their own blood.

For a moment, all Sidney could do was stare. They had to find whoever had done this. It wasn't enough for this guy to just kill people... He had to put them on display to torture the victims' families. These were fourteen and fifteen year old children, hanging from a tree... It looked like their deaths had been violent. Sidney wondered if they had died the same night as Martha. Surely they hadn't been kept alive an entire day...

She turned away, not wanting to see any more of this. Behind her, Dewey stared grimly ahead at the gruesome scene. Gale had turned around at some point and had buried her face in Dewey's chest. His arm was around her shoulders.

"I told you guys not to look," Dewey frowned, "Why don't you three get out of here?" he suggested.

"I knew these girls," Randy was still staring at the morbid scene before them, "I knew them since they were kids... they're still kids..."

"Come on, Randy," Sidney grabbed his hand and pulled him back, "Gale," she reached toward the reporter, "We'll all go to my house."

Dewey moved his arm from around Gale so that Sidney could lead her away, "I want all three of you to stick together," Dewey instructed, "I mean it. I don't want a single one of you going anywhere alone."

Sidney nodded as she put her arm around Gale's shoulders and squeezed Randy's hand tighter, "let's go, guys," she said in a small voice. The last thing Randy needed was to keep looking at the bodies of his dead sister's murdered friends. And Gale obviously wasn't yet over the shock of everything that had happened. It would do neither of them any good to stay here.

As she led her friends back toward her car, all she could hear above the indistinct chattering of Woodsboro's prying citizens was the sound of Dewey's voice as he ordered people to step back and much-too-politely asked them to please go home.

xxxxxx


	12. Unnamed Witness

xxxxxx

Gale frowned as she stared out the window of the living room in Sidney's father's house. Dewey had promised that they would stay together... They were supposed to never leave each other's sight. They were supposed to be looking out for each other at all times, but here she was, hanging out with a couple college-aged kids, not with Dewey.

When he had suggested that she, Sidney, and Randy leave the crime scene, Gale had been too out of it to protest, but now that she had recovered from the initial shock of seeing those two girls hanging from the tree at the school, she felt kind of angry. She and Dewey had told each other that they would stick together. Dewey wanted to make sure that Gale wasn't killed, and Gale wanted to reciprocate that gesture. Maybe Dewey felt content that Gale would be safe with Randy and Sidney, but what about him? Who was keeping Dewey safe?

"I guess my dad's not home," Sidney shrugged as she walked back into the room, "He didn't say he was going anywhere though..." her voice betrayed a hint of concern, "can I get you guys anything to drink?" she offered.

Gale shook her head. She really didn't want to be here right now, and didn't plan to stay for long.

"I better call my mom and let her know where I am," Randy commented as he stood up, "she worries... Can I use your phone, Sid?"

"Of course," Sidney answered, "you know where it is?"

Randy nodded, "I'll be right back," he said, and then paused in the doorway, "uh..." he shook his head as though disappointed in himself and walked out of the room.

Sidney looked over at Gale and sighed as she sat down on a chair across from the reporter, "you doing okay, Gale?" she asked.

Gale forced a smile as her eyes locked with Sidney's. She wasn't exactly the type of person who shared her fears and doubts with the world. Her career depended on her personal emotions staying hidden, and being so involved in her work meant that this sort of behavior carried over into her personal life more often than not. It came naturally to her to keep any personal feelings hidden, whether she was reporting or not, "yeah, I'm fine," she lied, "are you?" she frowned. Sidney probably knew those girls.

Sidney nodded, "it was too much to hope that they were still alive," she spoke with disappointment lacing her words, "I keep hoping things are going to get better, and that this is going to all be over, but it's only getting worse. I don't know why I keep getting my hopes up like this. I had hoped Heather and Kayla were alive somewhere. Today, when Randy and I followed the police to the school, I thought maybe, just maybe... that the killer had been caught. I had a hint of hope that this might be over. I knew it was too much to hope for, but the thought was still there, and I didn't dismiss it completely."

Gale stared across the room at the younger woman. Sidney was certainly more open to talking about her feelings than Gale was. The reporter really wasn't sure what to say, "he'll be caught, Sidney," Gale assured her.

"I hope so, Gale," Sidney frowned, "and I hope it's soon."

"Me too," Gale agreed. She paused. Sitting here with Sidney, talking about their feelings and doing nothing made her feel like she was wasting time and wasting opportunities. There was so much she could be doing right now. Whenever she knew something the public might not, she felt the need to report on it. Sure, a lot of people had been at the school - a lot of the public knew what was going on, but not everyone... And this time Gale had a story no other reporter could possibly have. She had the opportunity to report on the only living witness to any of these murders - herself. No other reporter could ask Gale what she saw. She wouldn't let them. Gale was the only witness she could guarantee would talk to no other members of the press. This was a news story only Gale could possibly have. How could she pass up the opportunity to have the best news story out there?

"Gale?" Sidney was looking at her like she was worried. Gale must have zoned out.

"Sidney, I've got to go," Gale stood up.

"Wait!" Sidney stood up as well, "Dewey told us to stay together!"

"Yeah, and Dewey told me that he and I would stick together too," Gale muttered under her breath, "sitting here doing nothing isn't going to help. I'm sorry, Sidney," Gale actually was sorry. She'd love to be the type of person who could keep things quiet and be content to sit around comforting her friends instead of taking action, but she just wasn't. She had information, and she needed to share it. Maybe her reports could even help find the killer.

She saw Sidney's shoulders slump and her lips fall into a frown. She felt awful for being a constant source of disappointment to so many people, but at the same time, she didn't want to feel useless or helpless. She had a job to do. She needed to keep the public informed when no one else would. She needed to get the attention her skilled reporting deserved.

"Where are you going?" Sidney wondered.

"I've just-" Gale hesitated, "I just have things I've got to do..."

"Gale, what-" Sidney was at a loss for words, "I can give you a ride at least," she offered.

"No, it's fine," Gale persisted, "I can call someone. Just stay here and you and Randy make sure you watch each other's backs. I'll see you around."

Without another word, Gale walked out Sidney's front door and down the porch steps. She pulled her cell phone out of her pocket. Dewey had given it back to her this morning, as it had been collected as evidence from Bethany's murder scene. Fortunately, the police had determined that it wasn't evidence after all, so she was allowed to have it back.

She hit speed dial number two - it was the number of her current camera man, Xavier, who was probably at the motel where they were staying, just outside of town. As the phone rang, Gale paced in front of Sidney's house and waited for an answer.

"Hello?" came the familiar voice of the man who had been recording all her news reports over the past year or so. After Kenny had been killed, Gale had spent a while working with various camera men and women, but she had found fault with each of them until she hired Xavier, who was actually much more dependable than Kenny ever was. He could never replace Kenny, of course. Gale actually liked Kenny as a person, not matter how much it may not have appeared that way. Xavier simply filled the vacant job.

"Xavier," Gale breathed a sigh of relief. Just speaking to her camera man made her feel more in her element. When she wasn't reporting on information she knew about a big story, she just didn't feel right, "I've got a story we need to record in time for the six o'clock news. Can you come pick me up? I'm outside the Prescott house," she hesitated, "well, I'll be walking down the road back toward town," she added. She really didn't want to stay here and risk Sidney or Randy coming out and trying to convince her to go back inside.

"Sure thing, Miss Weathers," Xavier answered, "where have you been? I knocked on your door last night," he was referring to her motel door - they were staying in a motel a few miles outside of town, in separate rooms, of course.

"Some things came up, Xavier," Gale remained purposefully vague, "I guess you'll understand when you record my report."

"Alright," the camera man agreed easily. He was kind of a push over. That's why he was such a good fit with Gale. She certainly didn't appreciate it when her camera men argued with her or pried into her news stories before she was ready to spill the details, "I'll be there in maybe ten minutes," he said.

"Look for me along the road, Xavier," she reminded him as she took off away from Sidney's house.

"Will do," Xavier said, "I'll see you in a few minutes."

"Thank you Xavier," Gale almost audibly cursed after she said that. She made it a habit to never thank Xavier for anything. He was doing a job. He was getting paid for it. She didn't owe him thanks, and giving them to him might just make him not take her seriously.

"You're welcome, Miss," he sounded so happy.

Gale sighed softly, "See you soon," she hung up the phone before he could say anything else.

... ...

"Alright, Gale, start whenever you're ready," Xavier spoke as he pointed his camera toward Gale, who stood in front of the high school.

Before coming here, Gale had gone back to her motel room and changed into something more professional, black dress pants, a snug-fitting red t-shirt, and a black blazer, to cover up the large bandage wrapped around her arm. They had then gone to the high school, where other reporters were already lingering. Their stories would have nothing on Gale's, however. She had made sure to choose a spot far enough away from the other reporters so that they wouldn't be within ear-shot.

Gale put on her best serious, unbiased reporter expression and began.

"This is Gale Weathers reporting from Woodsboro with some breaking news," she started, "I'm standing in front of Woodsboro high school, where just this morning the bodies of two local girls were found. Though their identities remain unconfirmed, early reports claim that the bodies are of fifteen year old Kayla Kelleher and fourteen year old Heather Williamson, two girls who have been missing since early Saturday morning. The girls had attended a party on Friday night, with Martha Meeks, the first victim of this unknown serial killer. While they had remained potential suspects up until this point, it is now clear that the girls were not perpetrators, but rather another couple of unlucky victims.

"The number of victims this unknown masked assailant has claimed is now confirmed to be five," Gale continued, "Just last night two other victims were killed, Bethany Grace, the 911 operator who took Martha's desperate call, and Marcus Storm, a local police officer. Just like with the teenaged victims, the murderer used a knife to kill these victims. Bethany was stabbed to death while Marcus was stabbed and then had his throat slit." Gale recognized that her report was becoming graphic, and that perhaps she shouldn't share this information before it was official, but she had been there when Bethany and Marcus had died. She knew their causes of death, and she was going to be the first to report it.

Gale focused on the camera and she went on, "though this case is looking very grim at this point, there is a bit of hope that this killer may soon be caught. The last murder was witnessed by an un-named civilian who gave us some information that may help in apprehending the murderer."

Xavier gave her a strange look from behind the camera, but remained quiet as he continued rolling. Gale paused for just a few seconds before quickly regaining her momentum, "the witness described the killer as wearing a costume similar to those worn by Billy Loomis and Stu Macher two years ago when they committed several murders in this same town. This costume includes a black robe-like garment as well as a white ghost-faced mask. The killer was described as being tall, perhaps near six feet, and is believed to be a man. It is likely that the killer is from Woodsboro, though not necessarily the case, and there's no guarantee that this person is working alone. Citizens are encouraged to keep a close watch for anything odd and report any suspicions to the local police."

Gale gave a slight nod to show Xavier that she was through. He shut off the camera and lowered it in his hands, "who's the witness?" he wondered.

The reporter breathed in a slow breath, "I am," she confirmed.

Xavier nodded. He didn't really seem surprised. He had probably pieced all this together already, or at least heard rumors that she had been present at the scene, "how did that happen? You witnessed the cop's death last night? And you're just now reporting on it? That's unlike you, Gale."

"I was kind of busy," Gale frowned, "the killer sort of attacked me and I had to go to the hospital."

"That's what the bandage over your arm was for," Xavier noted.

"That's right," Gale nodded. She glanced around them. There were at least ten other reporters hanging out around the school, and one of them was glancing over toward her with a knowing look on his face, "let's get out of here," she advised as she began making her way back toward Xavier's car.

Unfortunately, she wasn't fast enough. The reporter, who she did not recognize, but who clearly recognized her, was now making his way over toward them.

"Shit," Gale muttered under her breath as she quickened her pace.

"Miss Weathers!" the reporter said as he quickened his pace as well, "Gale Weathers," he persisted, "there are rumors that you were at the police station when the latest victim was killed, and that he attacked you after killing the victim. Can you confirm any of this?"

She ignored him and continued walking.

"Would you like to make a statement about having survived the killings two years ago, and about being back here now?" he asked.

Gale raised her hand up behind herself, as a signal for him to back off, as she moved toward Xavier's car. This man just wanted her to say something, and apparently it didn't even matter what it was. She was not going to play along. She knew this game better than anyone, and wasn't interested.

"Gale!" he called to her again, "did you see the killer?"

Xavier put his arm over her shoulders and pulled her along at a quicker pace until they reached the car. He opened the passenger side door and ushered Gale toward it. He slammed it shut as soon as she was inside and then rushed over to the driver's side, quickly sitting down, slamming the door, and turning the key in the ignition.

"Miss Weathers," the reporter knocked on the window.

"Just go, Xavier," Gale ordered, and her camera man followed her command without a word.

She looked out the window as they drove off. All the reporters hovering around the school while the police conducted their investigation did seem awfully rude and unsympathetic. She understood more than anyone that they were just doing a job, and trying to further their careers, but it didn't change the fact that it was quite easily and understandably viewed as disrespectful.

Gale interviewed unwilling witnesses and relatives all the time. It often just took asking more than once to get them to talk, even when they had refused the first time. The interview might not have been pleasant by that point, but it was certainly interesting, and that got her publicity. Even so, she knew how it felt to be on the other side. Countless reporters had tried to question her about the events she had survived two years ago, and she had to admit that she didn't appreciate it one bit. She understood why they were harassing her, but she hated them for it. She supposed that made her a hypocrite...

xxxxxx


	13. Enigma

xxxxxx

In a private room at the back of the local public library sat Officer Dewey Riley, with a file folder and a notepad on the table in front of him. Across that table and in a rather impatient mood sat Cotton Weary. Due to the fact that the police station was now a crime scene, anyone interviewing witnesses or suspects, or just dealing with the public in any way had been permitted to use rooms at the library over regular interrogation rooms, which was what had brought Cotton and Dewey here. The police were questioning potential suspects and needed a private place do to it. A private place which wasn't also a crime scene. The library seemed like the next best place Woodsboro had to offer.

Dewey narrowed his eyes slightly as he observed the man sitting across from him. He looked a bit uneasy, but that could easily be attributed to the fact that he had been falsely accused of murder once before. Even if this man was innocent, he had good reason to feel nervous. Most likely, as far as Cotton could see, based on his own personal experience, even being innocent and telling the truth might not be enough to erase suspicions against him.

"These chairs are nice," Cotton remarked with a nervous tone as he shifted his weight in the cushioned library chair.

Dewey nodded, "nicer than regular interrogation room chairs, huh?" he forced a laugh, "Cotton, you don't need to be nervous," Dewey assured him, "this is just standard stuff. We're questioning a lot of people today."

"That's funny," Cotton spoke with a very slight shaking in his voice, "Because I didn't see anyone else leaving when I came in..."

"Well, there's not exactly a waiting line," Dewey countered, "you were spotted at the crime scene where Bethany Grace was murdered last night," he moved the conversation along, "could you tell me what you were doing there?"

"Have you asked everyone else who was there this question?" Cotton scowled. He was quite clearly defensive, "Sidney was there. Randy was there. About fifty other people were there..."

"A lot of those people are going to be questioned, Cotton," Dewey frowned, "but we're not talking about them. We're talking about you. Why were you there?"

With an exasperated sigh, Cotton put his elbows up on the table, folded his hands so that his fingers were intertwined with one another, and rested his chin on top of his hands, "same reason everyone else was, Dewey."

"And that is-" Dewey wondered. He needed clear answers. He couldn't exactly make assumptions like Cotton seemed to want him to.

"There were lights and sirens and people crowded around. I stopped because I wanted to see what was happening," Cotton admitted, "Sure, it's not the polite thing to do - to gawk at an ambulance, but people have a natural curiosity about these sort of things."

Dewey nodded, "that's fair enough. I notice you didn't seem to stay at the crime scene for very long," he added, "where did you go afterward?"

"Home," Cotton replied.

"Did you drive? Walk?" Dewey asked.

"I drove."

"And you went straight home? You didn't stop anywhere?" the officer wondered.

Cotton sighed again, "yeah. I went straight home."

"Do you know of anyone who could corroborate that statement? Did you pass by anyone on your way? Speak to anyone who could confirm that you were going in the direction of your home?" Dewey requested.

Cotton shook his head, "I didn't talk to anyone. I drove past some people, but I didn't pay attention to who they were. I don't know if they saw me or would recognize my car... I didn't know I'd need an alibi."

Dewey nodded and observed the man across from him some more. Gale had told Dewey that she noticed the killer was taller than she was... and Cotton matched that description. But so did a lot of people.

Dewey slid the notepad and a pen over to Cotton, "I'd like to take a handwriting sample," the officer spoke, "if you could just write the alphabet, once in lower-case letters and once in capital letters and then copy down these sentences in your own, normal handwriting," he slid another paper toward Cotton. This paper contained some seemingly very random sentences, but these sentences were comprised of many of the same individual words that had been written on the note Bethany had given to Gale.

"Fine," Cotton begrudgingly took the paper and began writing, "did the killer leave a note or something?" he asked.

Dewey just shrugged. He couldn't share that information.

"I'm going to ask a few more questions while you write, if that's okay," Dewey continued.

"Go ahead, Officer," Cotton mumbled.

"You say you had a natural curiosity to see the scene where Bethany was killed," he started, "did you have the same curiosity for any of the other scenes? Were you present at any of them?"

"I drove past the school today," he admitted, "but it seems like it wasn't until a few hours after everybody else. It was basically just reporters there by that point. There was nothing to see."

"Do you know what the scene at the school even was?" Dewey asked, hoping if he was somehow involved he might spill more information than he should know.

"I heard the girls from the sleep over where the first girl was killed were found there," Cotton explained, "some people said they were hanging from a tree," he shook his head as though disgusted, "that's pretty messed up if you ask me."

"Yeah," Dewey agreed. He couldn't help but to see his own sister in these most recently discovered victims. She was near their age when she died, "very messed up."

Cotton slid the paper back over toward Dewey,"Everyone is looking at me funny on the streets," he spoke, "people act like I'm being suspicious, but I'm not doing anything any different from anyone else. Of course I'm curious when I see a cop car with its siren blaring drive by, or when I hear from someone else that bodies were just found hanging from a tree at the school. So is everyone. Sidney and Randy were at that crime scene just like I was, and they had the nerve to look at me like I was a criminal, while they were doing the same, exact thing. I've been proven innocent of the only crime I was ever charged with, but no one can forget what they once thought of me, even after they were proven wrong. Why is that, Dewey?"

"It's hard for people to forget how they once felt, I suppose," Dewey frowned. The last thing he wanted to do was to make an innocent man feel cornered and ganged up on. He completely understood why Cotton would be frustrated right now, "Cotton," the officer looked the man right in the eye," I want you to know I'm not accusing you of anything."

"Why does it feel like you are then?" Cotton wondered as he leaned back in his chair and stared at the officer.

"I'm just covering all my bases," Dewey explained, "like I said before, you aren't the first person who has been questioned, and you won't be the last. We're just trying to do whatever we can to catch this guy."

Cotton forced a very non-genuine-looking smile, "Just do what you've gotta do then," he sighed, "Of course I want the guy to be caught too... I'm just understandably frustrated that I'm always everybody's first suspect."

"I get that," Dewey noted. He looked down at the paper. From what he remembered, the handwriting there didn't match the note, but he was no expert. The killer could have disguised his or her writing too. The writing sample couldn't prove or disprove anyone's guilt. It was just a small stepping stone that might lead him toward a possible answer, "that's all for now, Cotton. We'll let you know if we need anything more."

He stood up as Cotton did the same and offered his hand out to shake the other man's.

For a moment, Cotton hesitated as he looked down at the officer's hand, but finally took it in a firm grip and shook it, "pleasure doing business with you, Officer Riley," he said in what Dewey could only describe as a dry sarcastic tone.

Dewey nodded and offered a half laugh, "be careful out there, Cotton," he remarked before the man turned to leave, "you weren't exactly involved in the last group of murders, but the killer could very well target you due to your association with Sidney and Gale."

"I wouldn't say I'm associated with them," Cotton frowned, "Sidney won't even give me the time of day, and I haven't even talked to Gale since she came back into town."

"This isn't only about the present," Dewey noted, " whoever the killer is seems to have some desire to lure people involved with the events of two years ago back into town. I don't know if that includes you or not. Just take all the necessary precautions. Don't go outside at night. Don't go places alone... Just keep an eye on your surroundings."

Cotton nodded as he walked toward the door, "I hope all you cops sort this out soon," he remarked as he opened the door, "then maybe people will finally leave me alone."

Dewey sighed as Cotton walked out the door and closed it behind him. He still couldn't decide of Cotton being so defensive meant anything. He would send the handwriting sample off to be analyzed and just keep a sharp eye on any and all details of the past murders. And unfortunately, he was quite sure there would be future murders to consider as well.

xxxxxx


	14. Have You Checked The Mailbox?

xxxxxx

"Randy, I can't get a hold of my dad," Sidney frowned as she looked over at Randy who was flipping through a magazine while he sat on her couch, "I didn't think he'd just leave the house without at least writing me a note, but then I thought, hey, I'm an adult now. Maybe he doesn't feel so protective now that I've moved out. Maybe he got used to not letting me know when he was going somewhere... But he's still not back and it's getting dark. He doesn't work on the weekends," she sounded very worried.

"I'm sure he's fine, Sid," Randy frowned as he put the magazine down on the coffee table and stood up. He walked over to Sidney and put his hands on her shoulders, "does he have a cell phone?" Randy wondered.

"Yeah, for work, but he left it here," she gestured toward the end table where a black cell phone was perched on top of a stack of books, "he only uses it for work, and today's Sunday. I've called all of his friends - anyone I thought he might be with. No one knows where he is. Randy, what if he was killed? We left him alone all morning. I didn't even consider that the killer might strike in the morning... or even that my father might be a target. But he was here two years ago just like you and I were. Just like Gale and Dewey. Billy and Stu almost killed him. Of course he's a part of this just as much as we are, but I left him alone. I didn't even think about the possibility of him being in danger... Randy, I'm so stupid..." she shook her head as through entirely disappointed in herself. Randy could tell by her quick, nearly breathless words, that she was becoming frantic.

"You're not stupid," Randy pulled her into a hug. He had to admit to himself that he was a bit worried for Sidney's father's sake too, but he couldn't tell her that. He had to stay optimistic for her sake, "let's just see if we can find him before you start getting worried, alright? Nothing was messed up in the house when we got here, so he had to have left on his own. You want me to drive you around town? We can check and see if anyone's seen him, or see if he's at a restaurant or bar or something? It's a small town. Someone's got to have seen him."

"I don't know where he would have gone," Sidney's voice shook, "Especially for this long. It's been hours... I don't think he would have just left without telling me. I really don't. We've got to find him."

"We will," Randy put his hand on the back of her head and hugged her closer. He wasn't entirely confident that what he said was true, but he didn't want Sidney to be worried any more than she already was. It was definitely odd that her father wasn't here, and had been gone for so long, but he was going to remain hopeful, or at least appear to, for Sidney's sake.

He couldn't help but jump when he heard the chiming of what sounded like a cell phone. He felt Sidney jump as well. They made eye contact for a brief moment. Sidney's eyes were large as she stared into his. But before either of them thought to say something, Sidney was making her way over to the table where her father's work phone was.

She glanced at Randy one more time before answering it.

"Hello?" she asked as she pressed the speaker button, so that they could both hear, and offered Randy a grimace.

Randy held his breath as a few seconds of painful silence filled the air before the person on the other line spoke.

"Sidney Prescott," the voice sounded amused, and it sounded like the same voice disguise that Stu and Billy had used two years ago, "And here I thought I was dialing your father's number..." Randy's heart sank. He hoped one of Neil's friends or co-workers just so happened to sound similar to the disguised killer's voice.

"Who is this?" she spoke in a calm voice, or at least a voice she tried to make sound calm. There was a bit of an edge to it.

"I left something in your mailbox, Sidney," the voice taunted.

"Oh yeah?" she was clearly trying very hard to sound un-phased, "and why would you do that?" Sidney glanced over to Randy and mouthed 'call Dewey' without actually saying any of the words out loud. She gestured toward the kitchen, where her land line phone was.

"You'll just have to check your mail box and see," the voice laughed.

Randy nodded and tip-toed into the other room. He heard Sidney still speaking on the other line, but wasn't listening to what she or the other voice were saying anymore. At this point, he had just one task on his mind, and it was to get a hold of Dewey before he and Sidney were butchered.

Just as he was reaching toward the phone, he heard pounding on the house's back door. Randy drew his hand back and looked over at the door. He walked cautiously back toward Sidney, "was that him knocking on the door?" he whispered, wanting to know if she had heard the killer knocking as he spoke with her on the phone. If it wasn't the speaker on the other line, did that mean there were two killers? Or was it someone else knocking...?

Sidney just shrugged and continued talking, "I'd have to be an idiot to go out there," she spoke, "just tell me who this is," as she spoke, she gestured back toward the other room, reminding Randy to call Dewey.

Randy nodded and made his way back toward the other room, watching the door carefully as he went. He picked up the phone, while still watching the unmoving door. No one was knocking anymore.

Putting the phone up to his ear, Randy began to dial. But there was no dial tone.

"Shit," he muttered under his breath, hanging the phone back up, and then picking it up again. He listened, and there was still no one, "fuck," he whispered, looking back toward the door again as he dialed the number anyway. Of course, nothing happened, "fuck, fuck, fuck," he growled, putting the phone carefully back down on the receiver and tip-toeing toward the back door.

Next to the door was a window. He drew the curtain back very slowly and peeked outside. He didn't see anyone on the back step. Sighing, he dropped the curtain so that it fell back into place. He made his way back into the living room and gave Sidney a serious look, "the phone line's not working," he whispered. At least they had a cell phone, but that wouldn't do them any good with the killer on the line. Sidney would need to hang up in order for them to alert someone that they needed help, but if she did, the killer may lose his patience and come inside the house.

He saw Sidney close her eyes in frustration as she spoke to who was most likely the person responsible for murdering Martha.

Randy felt rage inside him, "give me the phone," he ordered as he held out his hand.

Sidney complied without protest.

Randy took the phone, took it off speaker and held it up to his ear, "listen," he started in a no-nonsense tone, "I'm sure I'm not the only one getting tired of your damn games. Stop speaking in riddles and tell us why you're calling. I didn't come back to Woodsboro to listen to this bullshit again."

"I'm being very clear, Randy," the killer had a slight edge to his voice now, "I told your little girlfriend exactly why I'm calling, but I can't get it through her thick skull. Check the mail box."

Randy shook his head in annoyance, "we're not walking into your trap," Randy refused, "that's the thing about copying two high school losers. They found it easy to convince dumb kids to just walk outside in the middle of the night upon the command of a psycho telling them to over the phone. Adults don't do that shit. You're not dealing with kids anymore."

"Randy, if I wanted to kill you right now, you would be dead already," the voice threatened, "the house's back door is unlocked."

Randy froze. Was that true? He began making his way slowly toward the back door. He had to check. As he walked, the killer remained silent. He likely knew that Randy would go to check the door, and was giving him all the time he needed to do so.

As he neared the door and reached toward the handle to check it, he heard another loud knock. Randy jumped back, but knew his fears needed to be suppressed. He had to lock the door to keep himself and Sidney safe. As he was reaching back toward the door, it swung open.

Randy dove toward it in an attempt to push it back closed and he heard Sidney scream from behind him, "Randy! Run!"

Try as he might, he was unsuccessful in holding the door closed. He stumbled back as the killer forced the door open and walked into the house.

Randy had fallen back against the wall when the door knocked into him. If the killer wanted to kill him, now would have certainly been his chance. Randy looked up as the killer made his way inside. He was dressed in same sort of costume as before, the black tattered robes and the ghost-face mask. He looked down at Randy for a brief moment before fixing his gaze on Sidney, who still stood a few feet away.

Without another second of pause, the killer ran after her.

"No!" Randy screamed as reached out toward the killer's leg. He was too slow and was unable to trip the mystery person up, so Randy made his way quickly to his feet and ran after them.

He could see in front of him that Sidney was running toward the front door. The killer was a few paces behind, and Randy was another few paces behind him, "leave her alone!" he begged, "Sidney, run!" It was redundant to say, but he didn't know what else he could do.

As the three of them made their way out the front door, Randy noticed something very strange. Sidney was making her way down the sidewalk and toward the gate in front of her house. Instead of using his longer legs to catch up to her, the killer turned right and ran off into the trees. Randy looked on with confusion. He stopped in his tracks and looked in the direction the killer had gone. He then looked down at the phone still in his hand. He put it up to his ear. The killer was not on the line anymore. No one was. Now would be his chance to dial the police.

Just as Randy was about to dial, he heard a piercing scream. He turned toward the noise to see Sidney out by the road. She was standing near the mail box, screaming and crying, "No!" she sobbed.

Randy rushed toward her and soon saw what had caused her distress.

Lying on the ground with his back leaning against the wooden mailbox post was a familiar figure, Sidney's father. He was covered in blood, but otherwise looked very pale. Randy's breath hitched in his throat as he knelt down and felt for a pulse. He knew he wouldn't find one, but he had to check. The man's skin was cold, and there was no pulse to be found.

He turned toward Sidney and looked up at her.

"Randy," she spoke in a shaking voice, "is... is he..."

Randy shook his head, "he's dead, Sidney," he stood up and immediately grabbed Sidney in a hug, turning her around so that she couldn't see her father's body as he squeezed her in a secure embrace, "I'm so sorry," he could still see Sidney's father's body by looking over her shoulder as he hugged her close," I'm so sorry, Sid," he didn't know what else to say. He could hardly believe this was happening. When had he been killed? How long had he been dead?

Sidney squeezed her arms around Randy as she laid her head against his chest, "this isn't happening," she whimpered in such a soft voice Randy could barely hear her. Sidney shook her head very slightly and breathed in a shaking breath. Randy could tell she was trying very hard to keep herself from crying. He held onto her tighter.

It didn't take long for Sidney to forget all about trying to remain calm and stoic. She had just found her father's body, after all, so after only a few moments of shaking breaths, she broke down into tears. Sidney sobbed into Randy's chest as he hugged her closer, rubbing his hand in circles on her back, "It's okay, Sid," he spoke, not knowing what else to say. Of course, it wasn't okay. Not even close. Some masked murderer was killing everyone they cared about, and probably planned on killing them eventually as well. There was nothing okay about any of this.

As he continued moving his hand gently over Sidney's back, Randy looked over her shoulder at Neil Prescott's slumped over body leaning against the mailbox post. This was a nightmare. He glanced around himself, toward the trees, back up at the house, with its front door hanging open so that light spilled out onto them. All was quiet. All was calm. The killer was nowhere to be seen.

Randy breathed in and out a heavy sigh as he pulled Sidney back toward the house, leading her away from her father's body. He didn't want her to see him like that again. They needed to get inside the house, where they might be safer. And he needed to call the police, but he would prefer to have Sidney sitting down, or at least not out here in the dark, only feet from her father's body while Randy called for help.

As he held onto Sidney, leading her up the sidewalk and toward her front porch, Randy peered off toward the woods again. The killer seemed to have left. He didn't want to kill either of them. He had wanted to lure them outside. He wanted them to find Sidney's father. He'd even asked them to check the mailbox when he was on the phone with them before. Randy shook his head. This killer was even worse than Billy and Stu. This person wasn't just killing people - he was playing games with unwilling participants. He had let Gale live. And now he had let Randy and Sidney live... but for what? Just to see them suffer?

xxxxxx


	15. White Sheet

xxxxxx

Sidney shook her head in disbelief as she stared off toward the road. She wasn't really looking at anything in particular right now. Just starting off. Her mind was racing too fast for her to really concentrate on paying attention to anything visually. She, Randy, and Dewey were sitting on her front porch while the crime scene in her front yard was being processed.

"Are you sure you don't want to go inside?" Dewey offered. He had already asked her this before, but she didn't want to go inside. At least out here in the open they couldn't be cornered if the killer returned. She also didn't want to leave her dad out here all alone, even if he was dead. Sure, he was out by the road and covered in a sheet while the police gathered as much evidence as they could. The police weren't going to allow anyone or anything to disturb their crime scene, but she couldn't just forget he was out here and go inside. The least she could do for him was to stay out here until she knew his body was being safely transported to the morgue.

She shook her head, "I'm fine out here," she frowned. She then stared into Dewey's eyes. The officer surely wanted an explanation, and most definitely felt awkward about asking for it. So Sidney offered a short summary of the night's events without Dewey having to ask, "he lured us out here, Dewey," Sidney sniffed back tears. Going back over what had happened was going to be harder than she thought, "he called my dad's cell phone, his work phone. I don't know who would have the number... He told me to check the mail box," she felt her lip quivering as she remembered what was quite obviously a very cruel setup.

Sidney felt Randy put his hand lightly on her back. She and he were sitting on the porch swing. Dewey had pulled a lawn chair up in front of it and was asking them questions.

"I'm so sorry, Sidney" Dewey spoke as he put his hand lightly on her knee, "We're going to get the guy who did this. We're getting closer to finding him every day. He won't get away this. I promise you that."

Colored lights from the police cars radiated off of everything Sidney looked at. She glanced out toward the mailbox again. Lots of people were in her yard. She could only see bits of the white sheet every now and then, but she knew exactly what it was covering, "I shouldn't have left him alone this morning."

Dewey shook his head, "don't you dare blame yourself, Sidney," he frowned, "this is the killer's fault - not yours. It's no one's fault but the person who murdered him."

She sighed. That was a logical answer, but emotions aren't logical, and she still felt guilty.

"I know you probably don't want to talk about this," Dewey seemed nervous, "but I was wondering if we could go through what all happened. Every bit of information you can remember might help us catch the person responsible for all this."

Sidney nodded. Dewey was right when he said she probably didn't want to talk about what happened. She really didn't want to relive what had just transpired less than an hour ago. It would haunt her memories forever as it was. Going through all the details would only make the event stick harder in her memory. But she realized Dewey had a job to do, and her statement might help catch her father's killer. Her dad deserved to have his killer caught, and Sidney was more than willing to do whatever it took to help, no matter how painful it might be to recall the traumatizing event.

Without further pause, Sidney inhaled a deep breath and began to explain the night's events, "When Gale, Randy, and I got home, Dad wasn't here," Sidney started, "I noticed he was gone right when we got home. I didn't think anything of it at first... I mean, he's a grown man, and I'm an adult now too. He doesn't have to tell me every time he leaves the house, but he didn't ever come home. Once it started getting dark, I started to get really worried. I called everyone who I thought might know where he had gone, but no one had heard from him. So Randy and I were going to go look for him, but then the phone rang."

"Wait," Dewey interrupted her, "at what point did Gale leave?"

Dewey already knew Gale wasn't there, as he had been worried when he didn't see her when he arrived on the scene. Sidney had informed him that the reporter had left, but didn't go into the details, "she didn't even stay ten minutes, Dewey," Sidney frowned.

Dewey frowned as well, "Alright... Go on."

"You don't think she's a suspect, do you?" Randy wondered, "I mean, she's got the motive and all, but Martha? and Sidney's dad? I just don't think-"

"No, Randy," Dewey shook his head, "she's not a suspect. Not at all. I'm just trying to get a clear picture of what all went down."

"Alright," Randy raised his hand that wasn't on Sidney's back in defense, "sorry, man. I didn't mean anything by it. It's just that whole 'everybody's a suspect' thing. She left. The killer arrived. Probably just a coincidence, but it's hard not to notice that fact anyway."

"It's fine, Randy," Dewey offered a small smile, "I'm not upset with you. Everyone is accusing everyone, and that's fair. It could be almost anyone, but you didn't see Gale after the killer attacked her last night. Her emotions were real. She's not involved."

Randy nodded and turned to Sidney, "Sorry for changing the subject, Sid," he frowned, "go ahead."

Sidney smiled back at him and then continued, "So I answered the phone, and it was the killer. He had that same disguised voice as before, and he kept telling me to check the mail box. Randy tried to call you on the land line, but the phone line was down for some reason. He came back into the living room, where I was, and took the phone."

Without her even having to ask, Randy picked up where she left off, as he had been the one talking to the killer by this point, "the guy kept saying that we needed to check the mailbox," Randy explained, "and then when I told him I wasn't falling for his trap and going outside, he told me that he didn't want to kill us. He said if he wanted us dead, he would have done it, because the back door was unlocked. So I went to check the door, and he forced his way in. We ran out the front door, but as soon as Sidney was nearing the mailbox, the killer ran out into the woods. I'm sure he's long gone by now, but he went that way," Randy pointed out toward the trees.

"Alright," Dewey nodded slowly, "Stay here for a minute. I'm going to go talk to some of the other officers and see what we need to do about searching for this guy," he reached out and squeezed Sidney's hand, "I'll be back in a few minutes. Sit tight."

Sidney squeezed his hand back and then leaned back against the swing, closing her eyes as the swing moved gently back and forth. Randy must have been pushing off against the deck and making the swing move, because Sidney wasn't. He had put his arm around her shoulders and was simply sitting there with her, keeping her company and making sure she felt as safe as she possibly could feel. Randy was the probably the best friend she ever had. He even ranked up right near Tatum.

With her eyes closed, at first all she saw were the faint colors of the flashing police lights, but that was soon replaced by images of her memories of her father's bloodied body. With a small whimper, Sidney shuddered and forced her eyes back open.

"You okay, Sid?" Randy wondered.

She looked over to him. He was staring down at her with concern in his expression.

Sidney nodded, "as good as I can be," she shook her head, "I just can't get the image of him out of my mind, Randy."

Randy simply pulled her closer against him. He knew there was nothing he could say to make this better, and Sidney was glad he didn't even try. Sometimes silence and a warm hug were the most genuine expressions.

"Sidney?" Sidney's ears perked up as she heard the familiar voice of Gale Weathers, who was making her way up the porch steps.

"No press, Gale," Randy said in a dry, sarcastic tone, "who let you through?"

Sidney looked toward the reporter. Following close behind her was a man Sidney didn't recognize.

"Dewey let us through, Randy," Gale answered in an equally sarcastic voice, "and I'm not here as a member of the press. I'm here as a friend."

"And who's this?" Randy wondered, gesturing toward the man.

"Xavier," the man held out his hand as though he expected Randy to shake it as he introduced himself. When Randy didn't return the gesture, Xavier frowned and drew his hand back.

"My camera man," Gale explained in an almost timid voice, "but it's not what you think," she raised her hands in defense. He just didn't want me going anywhere alone. And my car is still at the park. Someone had to drive me here."

"Where did you go, Gale?" Sidney frowned. She had been gone for hours. What had been so important that Gale felt the need to go off on her own, which was exactly what Dewey told them not to do?

Gale shook her head and looked like she felt guilty, "I guess you don't watch the news," she frowned, "I was filming a news story. Then I went back to my motel room to watch it. I've got to do my job, Sidney."

Sidney rolled her eyes, "of course you were filming a news story... I can't believe I even had to ask."

"News stories help catch killers all the time, Sidney," Gale pouted, "I'm trying to help in the only way I can... But, I heard what happened, and I had to come by and make sure you guys were okay."

"What do you care anyway, Gale?" Randy sounded very defensive.

"It's okay, Randy," Sidney put her hand on his arm to calm him, "she was just doing her job..." she always had to try so hard to understand Gale. The woman was simply Sidney's polar opposite. Gale didn't feel okay sitting back and not sharing what she knew. She wasn't like Sidney. Sidney liked to respect people's privacy, even if it meant other people wouldn't know the full story. Gale did not value that philosophy. It wasn't like Gale could have done anything to stop Sidney's father from being killed. The killer had probably gotten to him before Sidney had even gotten back home after leaving the school. For all she knew, if Gale had stayed, the killer may have killed her too.

The reporter stood awkwardly in front of them, "I really am sorry, Sidney... I couldn't stand to just sit here and not report on what I've seen and experienced. People have a right to know anything and everything about the person who might be sneaking into their homes and killing them tonight. The public has a right to be informed, and the victims have a right to have their killer caught by any means possible. If getting information out there will help catch this guy, why shouldn't I report on it?"

Sidney shook her head. She understood where Gale was coming from. Just because the job was too insensitive to be a good match for Sidney didn't mean it wasn't doing any good for the world. It was a dirty job, and someone had to do it. Gale happened to thrive when she reported on touchy subjects like this, "just promise me you aren't recording anything right now," Sidney glanced past Gale and toward her camera man.

He raised his hands defensively, but didn't speak.

"At the risk of being punched again?" Gale offered a sympathetic smile, "of course not."

Sidney almost laughed.

"But really, Sidney," Gale looked very serious again as she pulled the chair Dewey had been sitting in before up closer to Sidney and sat down so that they were only less than a foot apart, "is there anything I can do? Do you need me to get anything or call someone or anything at all? I realize there's nothing I can do to fix this..." she trailed off.

Sidney looked back at her. Gale did look genuinely concerned, "I'm fine," Sidney lied. Gale was right. There was nothing she could do to fix any of this, "thank you for coming though, Gale," she put her hand on the older woman's arm, "it means a lot to me that you came here to see if we were okay instead of to film a news story. This is a huge addition to what you've been reporting on, and no other reporters are here. You would have gotten the story first, but you're not worried about that, for once. You're becoming a better person right before my eyes."

Gale looked down then, as though embarrassed, or maybe ashamed, "I'm far from perfect, Sidney."

"I know that," Sidney agreed, "but I like you better now than I did two years ago," she laughed.

"I just don't want to disappoint you, Sidney," Gale frowned.

"Then don't," Sidney stared into her eyes. Sidney narrowed her eyes as she watched Gale. She could see the reporter's mind was racing. It must have been strange to live a life where you couldn't control your impulses like that, where not wanting to disappoint someone was so much easier said than done.

Gale nodded, but looked uncertain, "have you got somewhere to stay tonight, Sidney?" Gale changed the subject.

Sidney nodded, "I'm staying at Randy's house."

"Okay, good," Gale smiled, "do you have my cell phone number? If you need anything at all, you can always call me."

Sidney smiled, "I've got it." Honestly, Sidney would have probably never called Gale. But she always kept the reporter's number in the back of her mind, just in case, "thanks, Gale."

"No problem, Sidney," Gale put her hand on Sidney's arm and squeezed lightly, "I'll see you around. Stay safe," the reporter stood up.

"You too, Gale," Sidney responded.

"See ya, Gale," Randy called after her.

"Bye, Randy," Gale flashed him a smile and turned toward the steps.

Sidney watched as Gale, followed by her camera man, made her way back down the steps and toward Dewey, who had been walking up the sidewalk toward the porch. They spoke for a moment, during which they both seemed a little angry, but their voices remained hushed. Dewey sighed loudly as Gale threw up her arms as though completely fed up with him. She and Xavier made their way back toward the road where they were surely parked while Dewey climbed back up the porch steps.

"We're sending some people out to search the woods, but we don't want to risk any more lives. They're going in a group, so if the killer is out there, he won't take advantage of a bunch of cops wandering around by themselves. We don't have that many officers in Woodsboro anyway," Dewey explained.

"Okay," Sidney nodded. She looked over Dewey's shoulder as her father's body, still draped in the white sheet, was loaded up into an ambulance, which no longer had its lights on. There was no point in that now.

Dewey glanced behind himself and then looked back at Sidney with a sympathetic look on his face, "do you guys need a ride to Randy's house?"

"No," Sidney frowned, "I want to have my car handy so I don't have any chance of getting stranded anywhere," she was feeling rather paranoid, but with good reason. A few years ago, she didn't own a car, and she was being chased by a killer right outside where a car would have been readily parked if she had owned one. Having her car might just save her life.

"Alright," Dewey nodded, "I'll follow you in my car at least, just to make sure you get there safe."

"Thanks Dewey, but you really don't have to," Sidney assured him.

"I want to Sidney," he put his hand on her shoulder.

Sidney smiled, "thanks Dewey. Are you ready to go then?"

Dewey nodded, "I'm ready whenever you guys are."

Randy stood up from the swing and stretched his arms out above his head, "let's get the hell out of here then."

Sidney nodded slightly to herself. She couldn't possibly agree more. She was more than ready to get away from here.

As she and Randy walked down the steps and across the sidewalk in front of her house, Sheriff Jones made his way up to her, "Sidney, we're going to do everything we can to catch whoever did this," he spoke, "Neil was a good man."

"Thanks, Mr. Jones," Sidney forced a smile. Her father and the sheriff had known each other ever since Sidney was a child.

"You're going back to Mr. Meeks's house?" Jones asked, glancing toward Randy and then back at Sidney.

Sidney nodded.

"Well, I'll be sure to drive by at some point tonight and make sure everything looks like it's going okay," the sheriff offered.

Sidney forced another smile, "I'm sure everything will be fine since we'll be with Randy's family."

"I'm sure it will be too," Jones agreed, "but you can never be too safe. I don't want anything to happen to you, Sidney, and I'm sorry we didn't catch the worthless son of a bitch who's doing this sooner, but we're getting closer. With each crime, more evidence is left behind. We're going to solve this."

"I hope so," Sidney sighed. Her father deserved justice.

xxxxxx


	16. Mirror

xxxxxx

Gale cursed under her breath as she stared out the windshield at the headlights of the car Xavier was driving back toward their motel, "and he told me we'd stick together," she continued a rant which she had started before they had even lost sight of Sidney's house, "He said it an entire day ago, and yet every time I want to be there to look out for him, he tells me I should go somewhere else. If he doesn't care about himself enough to let me watch out for him, why should he expect me to do anything he suggests? He says he wants me safe, and I told him I want him to be safe too. If he doesn't care about what I want, why should I care what he wants?"

"You're right, Miss Weathers," Xavier agreed as he kept his eyes on the road.

Gale narrowed her eyes. She didn't think he usually even meant the things he said. He just wanted to agree with her to keep her happy. While that was nice, it often got annoying at the same time. Sometimes she was wrong, and sometimes she needed someone to say so. That's what she loved about Dewey. If he thought she was wrong, he'd usually tell her.

She wasn't wrong this time though. She didn't care if Dewey had to work. She didn't care if he had to process yet another crime scene. There were more cops than just him. He couldn't stay working forever, and he certainly would at this rate. The killer was murdering more and people, creating more crime scenes faster than the cops could process them. The reporter and cop had made a deal with one-another that they would protect each other. If Dewey wasn't going to let her protect him, she wasn't interested in his idea of who should be watching out for her, which is exactly why when the cop had suggested that she ask to stay with Randy and Sidney, she had yelled at him and stormed off. She wasn't a college kid. She wasn't going to have a slumber party with kids who probably still hated her on whatever level. If Dewey didn't want her with him, she'd just have to fend for herself.

"He's going to be sorry if I end up getting killed," She grumbled as she crossed her arms over her chest and slumped down in the seat.

"Of course," Xavier agreed, "but the motel has strong doors. You'll be safe there. It's not technically in Woodsboro either. It's right outside the city limits. Maybe the killer won't even kill anyone not in the actual town."

Gale frowned. She still worried about Dewey. But how could she help someone who didn't want help? She couldn't exactly follow him around while he worked on crime scenes and dealt with sensitive information not meant for public eyes. The sheriff would never allow her to be made aware of such information, even if Dewey himself didn't mind.

As they pulled into the motel parking lot, Gale sighed. Xavier was right. They probably were safe here, safer than Dewey would be in Woodsboro at least. Including Gale and Xavier, it looked like there was only one other person staying at the motel, as only one other car was parked in the lot, in front of the room right next to Gale's. Xavier's room was on the other side of hers. Those were apparently the only rooms rented out, which wasn't at all surprising considering that there was nothing to do in Woodsboro. Gale figured the other room was probably being rented by another reporter. What other reason could someone possibly have for coming to this town?

"I'm going to go back to my room if you don't need anything else, Miss Weathers," Xavier informed her, "unless you want to try to plan out another news story. You could get a really great, one of a kind story if we get back to the Prescott house. I know Sidney's your friend-"

"No," Gale interrupted him, "I'm not reporting on that. She'd never forgive me."

"She forgave you for reporting about her mother," Xavier shrugged as he stepped out of the car, "you guys seem to be on pretty good terms now. She knows you're just doing your job."

Gale climbed out of the passenger seat and closed the door behind her, "it's too soon, and too personal," she explained as she looked over the car's roof at Xavier, "it was different when I did my reports on Maureen. That was just a popular case people cared about. It was a hot topic back then, which I took advantage of, and only happened to stumble upon my belief that Cotton was innocent by chance. All it was to me was a news story, fame, and a pay check. And I didn't know Sidney back then."

Xavier laughed as he and Gale made their way around the car and toward their rooms, "look who's finally developing a conscience."

"I am not," Gale shoved him as she made her way passed him and toward the door to her room.

"See you in the morning, Miss Weathers," Xavier called after her.

She ignored him as she unlocked her room's door and let it slam behind her. She flipped on the room's light and put her key card on the table next to the bed. She wasn't growing soft... She just didn't think it was appropriate to report on something she was so personally close to. Sure, she had reported on herself just hours before, but that was different... She didn't use her name. She called herself an unnamed witness. Sure, she knew it was her own experience she was speaking of, but the public didn't. It was totally different... Or maybe it wasn't... Maybe the fact that she was willing to report on her own trauma, but was unwilling to intrude on Sidney's meant that Xavier was right. Perhaps she was developing some sort of conscience and respect for others' pain. Maybe she really was changing, just like Sidney had suggested...

For a moment, Gale paced back and forth in the small motel room. What was she supposed to do now? She couldn't exactly just go to sleep after all that had happened today. She was exhausted, but knew sleep wasn't going to come easy tonight. She felt awful, for so many reasons. She had left Randy and Sidney alone, and the killer had shown up at the Prescott house. The two college students could have been killed. If the killer had wanted to kill them, he easily could have and would have. Gale didn't stay behind to keep their strength in numbers greater. She had left them to fend for themselves... At the time, when she had left, she was thinking that they'd be safe, and that she was putting only herself in any danger... She hadn't even considered that she was leaving her two young friends at the mercy of the killer.

Gale frowned as she thought on this even more. If she had stayed with Randy and Sidney, could she have prevented Neil's death? It was likely the killer had gotten to him before the three of them had even arrived at Sidney's house. There was most likely nothing any of them could have done... but she didn't really know that with certainty. Did her leaving cost Sidney's father his life?

She shook her head, ridding herself of these guilt-ridden thoughts. She couldn't blame herself for what a homicidal monster had done. Even if she could have somehow prevented Sidney's father's death, the fact that she hadn't didn't mean the man's death was his fault. Every single one of those who had survived any of these killings could drive themselves crazy thinking of what they could have done differently, but it wasn't going to change anything.

Gale took her phone out of her pocket and put it on the table next to the key card. She shrugged out of her blazer, tossed it over onto the motel room's desk, and settled down on the bed, turning the channel until she reached the news, which was by chance a repeat of the six o'clock broadcast. The broadcast started with an update on sports. That meant she had a few minutes before her own segment would air.

So she made her way across the room, toward a mirror that hung over the sink. She looked at her reflection, frowning at how much she didn't look like herself. Her own eyes stared back at her, with what looked like fear filling them. She feared for Dewey's sake most of all. What if the killer came for him tonight? She may have already shared her last words with him. Gale inhaled a slow, steady breath, smoothed out her hair and forced herself to smile. Everything would be okay. Dewey would probably be working with other officers. He wouldn't be alone. The killer wouldn't try anything.

Instead of continuing to stare awkwardly at her own reflection, Gale chose to make her way back to the bed. She could re-watch her news report, which would remind her that she was still in control. She was still the calm, collected, professional reporter she always had been. Gale leaned back against the pillows and focused on the television. On the screen, she saw herself and immediately smiled a genuine smile. She had to admit that she looked pretty good. Gale always loved watching herself on television. She was proud of her work, and with good reason. She didn't feel at all too humble to admit that she was pretty much the best reporter out there.

She smiled as she watched herself report with stoic professionalism. Her hair looked great, and her outfit did too. Her voice was strong and her eye contact was perfect. Other reporters probably aspired to be more like her. She bet most other reporters wouldn't be so professional while reporting on a topic so close to home. No matter how chaotic her life was right now, she still had this. She still had the fact that she was a well-know, successful reporter.

But the longer she watched the recording, the more uncomfortable she felt. She could see in her own face a hint of doubt when she got to the part about Marcus and to the part where she gave her profile of the killer. Anyone who didn't know her well wouldn't have noticed the tiny shift in her demeanor, but Gale had watched her own newscasts so many times. She could see it in herself that this story wasn't just news. It was personal.

Frowning, she turned the channel. It was on some sort of infomercial now, which was better than the alternative. For a moment, Gale stared at the screen, forcing herself to watch the show, for no other reason than the fact that she didn't have anything better to do at the moment. The man on the screen was advertising various knives. He was quickly slicing up tomatoes, and then a tin can, while he claimed the knives were the sharpest knives in existence. He went on and on about how they never went dull, and could cut through just about anything.

The reporter grimaced. Now probably wasn't a great time to watch a show about the sharpest knives around. She switched the channel again, this time to some sort of documentary about the civil war. That was good enough.

She tossed the remote down next to her on the bed as she stared at the screen. She was listening to the narrator, but didn't really comprehend anything he said. Instead, her mind was full of feelings of dread, regret, and uncertainty. Maybe coming back to town had been a huge mistake. She wasn't really helping matters. She was unable to protect anyone she cared about, and her reports didn't seem to be helping to catch the killer. All she had done was upset people and possibly inspire the killer to murder Bethany and Marcus. Maybe if she had just stayed away, those two at least wouldn't have died. Why was she even here?

Gale sighed and closed her eyes as she leaned back against the pillows. She kicked her shoes off and just laid there for a few minutes. She hoped Dewey was alright. She hoped Sidney and Randy were too. They probably would be if they were staying at Randy's house with Randy's family there. And surely the killer would have killed them when he had the chance if he really wanted to. They were probably safe... for the moment anyway.

Poor Sidney. Gale frowned as she thought about her. Both of her parents were gone. She didn't even have any siblings to share her grief. She was all alone. But at least she had Randy. That kid was completely in love with her. Gale could tell. He looked at Sidney the way Gale looked at Dewey, but Gale was lucky that Dewey returned her affection. It didn't seem like Sidney thought of Randy the same way he thought of her. Gale wondered if Sidney even realized how obviously in love with her Randy was. She seemed oblivious.

Gale's eyes shot open as she was yanked back out of her own mind, when she heard a crashing sound in the room next door to hers.

She pulled herself up on the bed and listened closely. It wasn't Xavier's room. It was on the other side of her room. For a moment, she heard nothing more. The person had probably just bumped into their desk or knocked over a lamp on accident.

The reporter was just about ready to settle back down and close her eyes again when she heard a thud sound.

Climbing off the bed, Gale took a step back and stared at the wall her room shared with this person's. She took a step forward and placed her ear against the wall. The sounds she heard weren't entirely violent-sounding... But she was on edge. What if the person in there was being attacked? What if the killer had followed her and Xavier here and was killing the person next door? Gale had to make sure they were okay.

She knocked softly on the wall and pressed her ear up against it again, "you okay?" she called out with a shaking voice.

No answer.

"Fuck," Gale hesitated. What was she supposed to do? She couldn't call the cops because someone in the next room dropped a lamp or tripped over their shoes. She would look ridiculous. But what if they really were being killed?

Walking slowly and softly toward her room's door, Gale pulled back the curtain on the window next to it. There were no other cars in the parking lot other than the ones that had been there before. She opened the door very slowly and peered outside. No one was there. Everything looked normal.

It was then that she heard a muffled scream. She couldn't just let this person get killed. What if it were her in there? Or Dewey? She'd want someone to help if they were within earshot. She had to do something.

Gale ran over to the door and tried to open it, but it was locked. This motel had the sort of doors that locked when they closed. So how had the killer gotten in there if this person didn't let him in? "Are you alright?" Gale yelled as she knocked on the door, "hello?"

"Fine," she heard a faint reply, "just killing a spider. Sorry 'bout the noise."

Gale nodded. The voice was so quiet she could barely hear it, "okay," she spoke back.

Now she felt like an idiot, but was so glad she hadn't called the police due to her neighbor getting excited over a spider. She sighed as she walked back to her room, only then realizing that she had locked the key inside, "Fuck," she grabbed the handle anyway and jiggled it, hoping somehow that it hadn't locked itself when the door slammed shut. But of course, it had.

She leaned her back against the door and closed her eyes in frustration with herself. She supposed she would have to make her way to the motel's office and request another key.

Unfortunately, her room was nowhere near the office. With no shoes on her feet, Gale walked down the sidewalk in front of all the other rooms' doors, then turned the corner where the outdoor pool was. Fortunately, there wasn't a fence all the way around it, so she was able to walk right next to it, between the wall and the water, instead of having to go around.

As she made her way past the pool, which was glowing blue with its underwater lights turned on, Gale shivered. The lighting was so eerie, and she seemed to be the only person awake at the motel. It didn't help her nerves at all that this place didn't even have any houses or neighboring buildings within sight. Everything about Woodsboro and its surrounding towns and country side was eerie at night. Gale was used to being in the city, not in the middle of fucking nowhere.

She wrapped her arms around herself and turned the next corner, where the office was. It was kind of cold out, and she was wearing short sleeves. She hadn't planned on getting locked out or else she'd have kept her blazer and shoes on at least. She walked inside to find that no one was at the desk. There was a bell though, which had a sign next to it which read "please ring bell for assistance." She pressed down on it and it chimed once.

No one came out to greet her though, "hello?" Gale called, leaning over the desk to see if anyone was in the back room attached to the office, "is anyone in here?" she asked. There was no answer, "Hello?" Gale could hear that her voice was becoming impatient, "I locked myself out. I need a new key..." there was still no answer. Gale sighed and rang the bell again, "I paid for this damn room," she grumbled, "it would be nice if I could get into it."

After a few more minutes of her arguing with a person who was clearly not there, Gale stomped her foot and made her way back outside, "shit," she grumbled under her breath. Now what was she supposed to do? She supposed she could knock on Xavier's door. Did his room have two beds? Her's did. Or maybe they could try using his phone to call the front desk. Maybe the owner would actually come out if the phone was ringing.

So she made her way back past the pool and down the sidewalk. She was about to knock on Xavier's door when she noticed out of the corner of her eye a piece of paper hanging off her own room's door.

Narrowing her eyes, Gale stepped toward the paper and looked at it. It was a plain piece of notebook paper, taped to the door with masking tape. There was something written on it. She read it.

"MEDDLING REPORTER'S ROOM."

Gale felt her eyes grow wide, her heart grow ice cold, and her breath hitch in her throat as she took a step back. She glanced nervously around herself and then made her way cautiously back toward Xavier's door.

She knocked very quietly as she continued to look back and forth from her left to her right as well as behind herself to ensure she wasn't about to be gutted, "Xavier?" she hissed in an urgent whisper as she knocked again, "damn it," she was forced to knock louder, but as soon as she did, the door on the other side of her room opened and a shadowy figure stepped out into the light of the lamp posts which were sporadically placed around the parking lot.

Gale whimpered as she took in this person's appearance. They were dressed in the same black robes and ghost mask as she had seen before when the killer murdered Marcus right in front of her.

"Xavier!" Gale screamed, pounding on the door as hard as she could, "let me in!"

She looked to her left, where the killer still stood. He tilted his head slightly as though confused or amused by her actions.

"Xavier!" she screamed again, "please!" she banged on the door, "dammit! Let me in! NOW!" she was beginning to feel actual anger now on top of her desperation. Couldn't her camera man hear her? Wasn't it obvious that this situation was kind of urgent?

When the robed figure began taking steps toward her, Gale had to give up on her hope that Xavier would help her. Maybe he was in the shower. Or maybe the killer had already gotten to him... She didn't have time to contemplate that much. The killer was coming toward her. She had to get out of here.

Gale took a few steps backward as she kept her eyes on the killer moving slowly in her direction. She didn't have the keys to Xavier's car, and her own car was still at the park. She couldn't get out of here, so she had to find a way to survive without leaving the motel. She immediately turned around and began to run back toward the office. There had to be a phone in there. If she could make it there and lock the door behind her, maybe she could call the police and barricade herself in the attached room until help arrived.

Pounding footsteps echoed through the night, and they weren't just Gale's. As she ran around the corner, she glanced behind herself, horrified to find that the killer was quickly gaining on her. His legs were simply longer than hers. She was running past the pool now, but it didn't look like she was going to make it to the office.

Gale gasped as she felt a hand grab her arm and pull her back.

As she stumbled backward, she lost her footing, and would have fallen if the person behind her hadn't caught her and slammed her quite roughly up against the motel's brick wall.

She cried out in pain as she stared up at her aggressor, who had a knife in one hand, and Gale's arm still gripped tightly in the other.

"No running next to the pool, Gale," the killer mocked with a laugh. His voice was of course still disguised, but even so, it was horrifying. The knife he held glinted threateningly in the blue light radiating from the pool, and it looked like it was already coated in someone else's blood.

Gale whimpered again. The gloved hand circling her upper arm held her so tightly. She reached her other hand up and grabbed the killer's wrist so that he couldn't stab her with the knife he held in that hand.

The killer immediately let go of her arm in order to pry her hand off of his.

Gale took this opportunity to bring that hand over to her other in an attempt to disarm her assailant.

To Gale's complete and utter shock and surprise, she was actually able to knock the knife out of his hand. With wide eyes, she stared into the black void where his eyes would be under the mask. He immediately moved to reclaim his knife, which the reporter promptly kicked into the pool. She was rewarded with a harsh punch across her cheek.

Gale stumbled back, bringing her hand up to her cheek as tears formed in her eyes. She turned to run, but the killer was not going to let her get away this easily. He was grabbing at her arms in seconds flat, and seemingly trying to pin them against the wall he had slammed her back against again. She was completely trapped, unable to move even an inch.

"Please don't do this," she begged as she struggled to pull her arms free, "you can just go right now. Just get out of town and enjoy the fact that you got away with the other murders. You don't have to do this," she was quite out of breath, "if you keep killing people, you're going to get caught. It's inevitable. Now's your chance to go, to get away with it all. No one ever has to know who you even are, and if anyone does suspect you later, just deny everything. No one has any good ideas on who you are right now... You can put an end to this. Everyone you already killed, they're yours... you got them. You win... Just stop while you're ahead."

Gale could hear her own voice shaking as she spoke. She knew this person wasn't just going to let her go. Whoever it was, they had gone through a lot of trouble to make sure all the right people were back in Woodsboro for his killing spree. Whatever this person's plan was, it almost certainly involved certain people dying, and it was looking very much like she was one of the killer's essential victims. He wasn't just messing with her this time. Tonight, he hadn't come here just to kill someone in Gale's presence in order to scare her or prove anything to her. It seemed like he as here entirely for her this time. He meant to kill her tonight, and Gale wasn't sure if she was going to be lucky enough to be able to get out of it this time.

The killer's bruising grip kept Gale held firmly in place as she stared up into the mask's eyes, which were made out of some sort of dark, but almost slightly transparent material that she could just barely see through. She squinted as she tried to see whose eyes were behind the mask, but she simply couldn't see through the material well enough to claim any guess as to who it was.

Whoever it was must not have liked her attempt at seeing who he was. He squeezed her arms tighter for a moment, causing Gale to wince as she struggled to pull her limbs free of his grasp. When he moved his hands up to her throat, Gale began to panic even further. She wasn't ready to die. So she screamed, hoping someone might hear her. Anyone... the motel's manager, Xavier, someone driving by on the road... anyone at all. But no one came to her rescue.

"Please," she rasped as the gloved hands wrapped around her neck and prevented her from breathing. He shook her slightly as he squeezed his hands tighter and tighter. At this point, she could no longer even plead for mercy. All she could do was claw at his hands while she tried desperately to intake even the smallest breath.

Gale could see her vision clouding over as she grasped at his forearms. She squeezed her eyes shut and focused on trying to free herself by pulling at his arms. His grip was tight and his arm muscles tensed. There as no way she could overpower him. So in a desperate attempt to gain the upper hand, she slammed her knee up between the killer's legs.

He growled as he lost his grip on her and lost his composure for just a moment. Gale took this moment to began running away again. As she stumbled forward, she put her hand up to her throat as she breathed in some painful, desperate breaths. She felt quite light-headed as she moved away from her attacker, but she knew she had to keep going. She had to get away... but she hadn't been fast enough. She was grabbed from behind almost immediately and thrown harshly to the ground with the killer now on top of her. He easily flipped her onto her back and was now staring down at her as he straddled her.

In a frantic desperation, she threw a punch at his face and whimpered when he threw one right back at hers, hitting her harshly across her cheek. He grabbed both of her wrists in one of his hands, slamming them powerfully over her head, against the concrete ground. He pinned her hands there in a grip that was impossible to escape and moved his other hand back to her neck, squeezing her throat again. Now she definitely couldn't move.

Gale groaned in frustration as she attempted to thrash her body out of his grip. She felt the rough concrete painfully grating her arms as the killer crushed her limbs against the pool's deck, "get off me!" she screamed in a weak, strained, panicked voice as he squeezed his hand tighter around her throat.

As she gasped and struggled with futility to release her arms, her vision began to fade again. No air was reaching her lungs, no matter how hard she tried to breathe. Gale could feel tears falling from her eyes and down her cheeks, and would have likely heard a sob coming from her own throat if the killer had allowed it. Her lungs burned and desperately begged for her to fill them with oxygen, but she just simply couldn't. She could feel her limbs growing heavy as her vision became even more clouded. She couldn't even struggle to pull her arms free at this point. They felt like lead. She was going to die right here, right now, and there as nothing she could do to stop it... As he limbs grew limp and her body relaxed, the last thing she saw before her sight and consciousness left her completely was what looked like a car's headlights...

xxxxxx


	17. Soaked

xxxxxx

After Dewey had followed Sidney and Randy home to ensure they made it there safely, he took the liberty to drive by the motel where Gale was staying. He hadn't told her that he was going to, but he was worried about her. He felt bad for not sticking with her like he had said he would, but he couldn't exactly drag her around to crime scenes and police interrogations. He had a job to do, and that job required that he didn't bring civilians along with him, no matter how much he liked those particular civilians.

Gale had left Sidney's house quite clearly angry, and Dewey didn't like leaving things like that. Considering what was going on around Woodsboro lately, no one could ever know which conversation with someone they loved was going to be their last. He wouldn't be able to properly function knowing that Gale was upset with him. He had to make sure things were alright between them before he and she parted ways again, just in case.

He wished she had gone with Sidney and Randy though, so that at least all the people he cared about most would be in one single location that he could keep an eye on. But Gale was stubborn, and she wanted things her way or no way. She had told him with anger and annoyance in her voice that she'd just stay at the motel tonight, and no matter what Dewey said, she was probably not going to give in on that. All he could do was check in and hope she stayed safe when she wasn't in his presence.

As Dewey pulled into the motel's parking lot, his headlights caught some movement by the outdoor pool. The officer frowned as he squinted at the scene before him in an attempt to make out what exactly he was seeing. That certainly looked like their killer, cloaked in black, crouched down and straddling someone.

Quickly putting the car into park, Dewey left the headlights on so he could see the scene better, and jumped out. He grimaced as he moved around to the front of the car, immediately drawing his gun and rushing toward the two figures.

"Police!" he identified himself, as was common procedure, "put your hands in the air!" he demanded from a safe distance as he aimed his gun toward the darkly dressed figure, "stand up, hands in the air! Drop your weapon!" he couldn't see if the person even had a weapon, but assumed he did.

The person dressed in black - the person who seemed to have been attacking the other - did not stand or raise his hands in the air. Instead, he hesitated for a moment. All Dewey could see was the killer's back. The person under him seemed to be dressed in dark clothing as well. Dewey could only see what looked like a female's feet, wearing socks, but no shoes. Dewey was beginning to panic. Were those Gale's feet? There weren't many people staying at this motel.

His entire chest felt cold as he kept his gun on the suspect, "stand up!" Dewey ordered again, his voice now more stern than even he was used to. He was becoming very angry at the thought that this person may have hurt Gale, "now!" he demanded.

The killer slowly rose to his feet, pulling the other figure up off the ground, and turning around to face the officer.

Dewey's breath hitched in his throat when his suspicions were confirmed and he saw that it was Gale who the killer was holding onto. She was completely limp, with her head slumped forward and her hair hanging over her face. She didn't seem to have any visible injuries, but she didn't seem to be conscious. Was she dead? Dewey's throat felt dry and his eyes stung with un-shed tears, "let her go," he ordered, his voice cracking, "leave her alone, and turn yourself in," he kept his gun trained on the suspect, but his arms were shaking very slightly.

The killer simply stared ahead at the officer for a moment. The hollow eyes and set mouth of the ghost mask were impossible to read. He held Gale's limp form up with one arm and put his other hand lightly on her cheek, "think she can swim, Officer?" the killer's disguised voice spoke with a hint of amusement in its tone as he nodded very slightly toward the pool.

Dewey swallowed a lump in his throat, "there's nowhere you can go," he threatened, "just let her go and turn yourself in," he repeated his earlier suggestion as he stared more at Gale than the person gripping her unconscious body.

The reporter's eyes were closed and her mouth was almost pouting. Her eyebrows were knitted together as though she was in pain. He squinted. He could have sworn he saw her chest faintly rising and falling, "What did you do to her?" Dewey called out.

The killer did not answer. Instead, he simply shrugged, "think fast," he taunted as she shoved Gale toward the pool.

Dewey gasped as she fell in with a splash. The killer ran off in the other direction, toward the back of the building. For a moment, the officer hesitated, aiming his gun at the running suspect, but he didn't have time for vengeance just yet. The person he loved most in the world was currently unconscious and sinking into a pool. Dewey had no choice but to go after Gale instead of trying to catch the killer. If she was still alive, but unconscious, she would drown. He had to save her. So he dropped his gun and dove into the water, swimming as fast as he could until her reached her.

He wrapped his arm around her torso and let her head fall back against his shoulder as he paddled toward the pool's concrete deck. Climbing out while also maintaining his grip on Gale was a chore, but he eventually managed, laying the reporter down on the concrete as gently as he could considering he was also quite frantic.

Dewey leaned down over Gale, forgetting for now that the killer could be anywhere by this point. He had to make sure she was alright.

He put his hand over her heart and leaned down so that his ear was close to her mouth and nose. When he felt her faint breaths and heart beat, Dewey breathed out a sigh of relief, closing his eyes for a moment. He was so unbelievably happy that she wasn't dead. But she needed to wake up. She was probably hurt, and Dewey still needed to help her.

"Gale," he whispered as he looked her over. She was soaking wet, of course. As was he. She didn't look to have any injuries. Dewey wondered what had happened. What had the killer done to make her lose consciousness? He ran his hands carefully over her stomach and around to her back, checking for any stab wounds he might not have seen at first, "Gale?" he whispered again as he brushed some wet strands of hair off of her face, "wake up."

She continued to lay un-moving beneath him.

Dewey frowned as he pulled Gale up so that she was partially in his lap. She felt so cold. He hugged her close. It was then that he noticed the headlights which had been shining on them from his car were beginning to move.

He looked up toward where he had parked to see that the car was backing up.

"Fuck," he muttered under his breath as he hugged Gale closer. What if the killer was going to try to run over them? There didn't seem to be enough room on the pool deck for an entire car to fit between the pool and the building though.

The cop watched in confusion as whoever was driving the car simply backed it up, turned it around, and left the parking lot completely.

His attention was immediately drawn back to Gale when she began to cough and push weakly against his chest.

"Get off me," she gasped in a small, strained voice as she continued coughing.

For a moment, Dewey thought she was angry with him. He loosened his grip as he frowned. Then he realized that she probably wasn't exactly in her right mind. She was just waking up after having nearly been killed. She was probably confused about who had their arms wrapped around her, "Gale, it's me," Dewey explained.

"Dewey?" her voice sounded so shaken and hurt as she looked up into his eyes. Her own eyes were huge, and brimming with tears.

"Yeah, Gale," he hugged her tighter again as she threw her arms around him as well, "you're okay," he assured her, "you're going to be alright."

Dewey was entirely surprised when Gale began to sob into his chest. He kept his embrace around her shaking shoulders secure as she continued to cry. The officer frowned. She felt so small and fragile in his arms. The reporter was ordinarily so stoic and always appeared to lack any emotion other than annoyance. Seeing her like this was entirely foreign to him.

Rubbing soft circles on Gale's back and running the fingers of his other hand lightly through her hair, Dewey tried to speak calming words, "you're safe now," he promised, though he was really unsure if that was true. He felt her body trembling next to his, probably from the chill air mixed with the fact that she was drenched in pool water, "I won't leave you alone again," he promised, "you and I are sticking together from this point on. And I really mean it this time."

He wasn't even sure if Gale was hearing him at this point. She cried as she kept her arms wrapped around him. It felt like she was holding on to him for dear life, like she feared letting go of him. He kept his grip around her secure as well.

Her sobs didn't take long to subside. Gale wasn't the sort of person who showed weakness, and she seemed to remember that fairly quickly. Before long, she was simply sniffing every few seconds as her body continued to shake.

"What happened?" she wondered. Her voice was so soft he could barely hear her.

"He pushed you into the pool," Dewey frowned, "I just got here. I don't know what happened before that."

Gale broke her and Dewey's embrace as she pulled herself together quickly, wiping her hands across her cheeks and looking up at Dewey with large, tear-filled eyes, "did you catch him?" she asked. Her voice sounded strained and shaky.

Dewey frowned and shook his head, "no... When I got here, you were unconscious, and he threw you into the pool before running off. I couldn't save you and go after him too. I had to choose."

Gale's lip trembled as she hugged Dewey again, but she didn't say anything.

"What happened, Gale?" Dewey wondered. He wrapped his arms securely around her, "what did he do to you?"

"I heard sounds in the room next to mine," her voice was still much too soft as she spoke. Dewey rested his chin on top of her head, as she was laying against him with her head against his chest. He ran his hands up and down her arms in an attempt to warm them. She was freezing, "I had to make sure they were alright," the reporter continued, "so I went and knocked on their door. I got myself locked out, and the killer found me. I think he was really going to kill me this time, Dewey," she continued, "but I got the knife away from him. I kicked it into the pool."

Dewey glanced toward the pool, but couldn't see anything there from where he was sitting.

"But he tried to strangle me," Gale's voice trembled, "I fought with him, but he was just too strong. The last thing I remember before waking up just now was having his hands around my neck... but I remember your headlights. I didn't know it was you though."

Dewey frowned. If he hadn't gotten there when he did, Gale surely would have been killed. The killer had strangled her to the point where she actually lost consciousness. How close to death had she been? It pained him just to think about it. Gale had wanted the two of them to stick together, but he had chosen work over her. If she had been killed, it would have been all his fault, and even now, it was his fault that she had been hurt.

"We have to go, Dewey," Gale spoke, her voice still weak, "the killer is still out here somewhere."

"He took my car, Gale," Dewey frowned, "he just left. I don't think he's here anymore."

Gale looked over to where Dewey's car had been parked earlier, "we should call the police. And we should call Sidney and Randy and make sure they're alright. If the killer was going to kill me, maybe he's going after Sidney or Randy next."

Dewey nodded, "Is your camera man staying at this motel too? Could we use his phone?"

Gale shook her head, "he's here, but I knocked on his door earlier and he didn't answer. I thought maybe he was in the shower... Unless the killer killed him," she frowned.

"Let's try him again and then we'll go into the office if he doesn't answer," Dewey suggested.

Dewey stood up and helped Gale to her feet. It was much too cold outside right now to be walking around completely soaked. He could almost swear he nearly saw his own breath in the air. He wrapped his arm around Gale's shoulders and walked slowly with her back toward her room, "are you okay, Gale?" he asked. She hadn't ever really gone into much detail of what had gone down between her and the killer. It was quite possible she could be hurt more than she claimed.

"I'm fine," she assured him, though her voice shook. He could feel she was still shivering.

He nodded. Hopefully Xavier would have something dry for them to wear. Or they could at least use some of the motel's blankets until they were able to get out of here. He wondered if he should try to get Gale to go to the hospital.

They reached Xavier's room and Dewey knocked on it rather rapidly, "Police," he called out, more out of habit than anything, "open up."

He glanced down at Gale when there was no answer. She shrugged, "this is exactly what happened earlier. No answer at all. I hope he's okay."

"Xavier!" Dewey called out, "it's Dewey and Gale. We need to use your phone. Open the door, Xavier."

Still no answer.

"Oh my god," Gale gasped, "what if he's the killer?"

Dewey considered this. He didn't really know Xavier... at all, "do you think he could be?" the cop looked back down at Gale, "you know him better than I do."

"I don't know," Gale whispered, "I mean, obviously he doesn't seem like a killer. I wouldn't have let him work with me if I thought he was capable of murder... But I really don't know him. And we aren't exactly friends. He's very agreeable, but, well," she offered a dry laugh, "I wouldn't say I am. He probably hates me. That could be why the killer leaves notes about me meddling. Maybe Xavier doesn't like recording my reports and thinks I'm too harsh in gathering and delivering information. He knows the kind of work I do better than most do. Maybe he disagrees with my tactics, and I never even realized."

"Wait," Dewey looked down at her, "Notes? He just left one, didn't he?" Dewey frowned.

"Oh," Gale gestured toward her door. They made their way over to it. Sure enough, another note was taped to the door.

"Meddling reporter's room," Dewey read, "whoever the killer is, he certainly seems to have a bone to pick with you."

Gale frowned, "yeah," she agreed.

"I'm sorry," Dewey frowned as well, "that wasn't funny. I shouldn't have said that."

"It's fine," Gale squeezed his hand, "we need to get to a phone though. The killer was either staying in that room," she gestured to the room next to hers, "or he killed the person staying there. I heard a struggle... Or something. And that's the door he came out of right before he came after me. And Xavier might be dead too, if he's not the murderer."

Dewey nodded. They needed to get into those rooms in order to see who all was still among the living, or among the missing. They needed a record of who was staying at the motel so they'd know who needed to be accounted for. And of course, they needed to find a phone so Dewey could call for backup and make sure Sidney and Randy were alright.

So they made their way toward the office.

"No one was in here earlier," Gale spoke as she climbed the two steps up into the office, "I rang the bell on the desk and called out, but no one came."

Dewey walked in after her and called out, "hello?" there was no answer. He sighed and walked around the desk. They didn't have time to wait on the motel staff to decide to do their job. He needed to get backup here, now, and it would certainly be nice to dry off. He was freezing, and he knew Gale was too, if her constant shivering was any indication.

As he walked around the desk, he noticed something red out of the corner of his eye. With a sinking feeling in his heart, he turned toward the vibrant color. Sure enough, under the desk was a pool of blood, and of course, a body was laying in that pool of blood.

"Shit," Dewey murmured under his breath.

Gale walked around the desk in order to see what the cop was looking at, "Oh my god," she winced.

Dewey frowned and looked over at her, "is that the manager?"

Gale nodded, "yeah," she spoke in a small voice.

Dewey walked back around the desk to avoid walking too close to the body and possibly messing up any evidence that might be around the vicinity of the corpse. He reached over to the phone that was sitting on the other side. He put it up to his ear, but there was no dial tone, "the line's dead," he informed Gale.

"Of course it is," Gale sighed.

xxxxxx


	18. Sidney Calls Back

xxxxxx

Sidney stared across the room at Randy who was snoring softly on the couch in his family's living room. He had offered to stay up with her rather than going to bed, but was seemingly much more exhausted than he realized. Sidney didn't mind. She actually appreciated very much that her friend had even offered to stay with her instead of leaving her alone to dwell on her own thoughts. Obviously he was very tired, and he could have easily told her that, and she wouldn't have blamed him at all if he had opted to go to bed. But he hadn't done that. He'd stayed up with her, or at least had attempted to, and for that she was very grateful. She was so lucky to have a friend as loyal as Randy.

She smiled as she watched him. He certainly was a strange person, but at the same time he was one of the best people she had ever met. Randy stuck with her no matter what.

Sidney sighed as she leaned back against the recliner she had been sitting in. Maybe she should try to get some sleep too... Though that was most certainly easier said than done. Her mind, of course, was still racing.

Now Sidney could factually state that she was an orphan. Losing her mother was awful enough, and now she had lost her father as well. It simply wasn't fair. When she was a little child, Sidney would sometimes worry that her parents would one day die. Sometimes she would lie awake at night wondering what she would do if they were gone. She never imaged they would go so soon, or like this.

She glanced over toward Randy again as he shifted onto his side. He looked so peaceful, but his mind was probably clouded with worries, dread, a feeling of being cheated over, and grief, just as Sidney's was. Martha was only fourteen. He probably never dreamed he'd be attending her funeral at all, much less while he was still only in college. And Martha was such a sweet girl. She couldn't have possibly done anything to deserve what had happened to her.

Looking toward the window, Sidney inhaled deeply. Randy's family had taken the liberty of closing all their curtains, as many families throughout Woodsboro probably had tonight. People were scared, and with good reason. Sidney wondered if the person who murdered her father and Randy's sister, and all those other unfortunate people was outside somewhere. Whoever it was seemed to always know everyone's business. He or she probably knew Sidney and Randy were here. The killer surely wouldn't strike while they were with Randy's family, and there were probably police keeping a watch on his house too. It was quite likely that Sidney and Randy would live at least until tomorrow.

Would the killer go after someone else tonight then? Three people had been killed the first night. The following evening, two more people were murdered. Tonight, it had been Sidney's father - and he may have even died sometime during the day. Was the killer done for tonight? Or would Sidney wake up to hear that someone else in town had been killed? Were Dewey and Gale safe? Dewey was working. He probably wouldn't be left all alone, right? Gale left with her camera man, Xavier. Would Xavier make sure Gale was alright? Were they friends enough to look out for each other? Or was their relationship strictly professional?

Sidney frowned. Maybe she should call Gale and check in. She always told herself that calling Gale was the last thing she'd ever want to do, but for some reason she felt like she might just never fall asleep if she didn't make sure the reporter had made it to her motel safely.

So she picked up the phone that had been laying on the end table next to her chair and dialed Gale's number. Hopefully Gale wouldn't be annoyed if Sidney woke her up.

As the phone rang, Sidney occupied her mind by glancing around Randy's family's living room. The walls were covered in school pictures of both Randy and Martha, dating back from when they were each in Kindergarten. Sidney smiled. Randy was adorable as a five year old. She tapped her fingers on her knee as the phone continued ringing without an answer. She was beginning to get worried. Gale seemed to always have her cell phone on her. Why wouldn't she pick up?

Finally, the ringing stopped.

Sidney paused as she waited to hear Gale's voice. But she never did. Someone had figuratively answered the phone, in the regard that they had pressed the talk button and were connected now to Randy's phone, which Sidney now held up to her ear, but they hadn't said anything.

"Gale?" Sidney finally asked, "Gale, it's Sidney," she spoke, trying to keep her voice relatively quiet so as to not wake Randy, "can you hear me?" maybe the motel didn't have good cell phone reception.

"I hear you, Sidney," a voice spoke. But it wasn't Gale's.

Sidney set her mouth in a straight line as she sat up in the recliner, "who is this?" she asked with a very serious tone. She knew who it was, of course, because the speaker on the other end of the phone spoke in the same voice as the murderer who had called her father's phone earlier tonight.

"Who do you think it is?" the killer asked in an amused voice, "you got any suspects in mind? Who do you think I am?"

Sidney frowned, "where's Gale?" she scowled at nothing in particular as she spoke.

"She's here with me, of course," the voice spoke, "as is your good friend Officer Riley."

"Did you kill them?" Sidney spoke in a very matter of fact tone. She wasn't interested in playing games with this person.

For a moment, the killer didn't answer. Sidney was about to ask again when he finally replied, "not yet."

"If you hurt them," she began a threat she knew she couldn't possibly deliver on.

"You'll what?" the killer mocked, "what will you do if I hurt them?"

"I swear, I'll kill you myself," Sidney growled.

"Well, you'll have to come and get me," the other person laughed, "I'd like that, actually. Maybe we can make a deal," he spoke, "you come meet us at Gale's motel room; you know where it is, right? The only motel anywhere near scenic Woodsboro."

"I know where it is," Sidney frowned as she spoke.

"Excellent," the killer had a smile in his voice, "you come to the motel, and you come without any police. If I even so much as suspect there is a cop anywhere near here, other than your cop friend who's already here, of course, I will slit both of their throats. You've got fifteen minutes before I start breaking fingers."

Sidney swallowed a lump in her throat.

"You better get a move on, Sidney," the voice spoke again, "and remember, no cops."

With that, the line disconnected.

Sidney felt her breathing becoming frantic. What was she supposed to do? Of course she couldn't leave Dewey and Gale to die, but should she tell the cops? Maybe she could tell them to hang back and only come in when the opportunity was right. But would they consider catching the killer the biggest priority? What if they were okay with Dewey and Gale being necessary casualties for the greater good?

Honestly, she felt like breaking down and sobbing. She had already lost her parents, her best friend, her first serious boyfriend she'd ever had... Dewey was like a big brother to her, and Gale was... She didn't really know for sure, maybe like an older sister who she didn't always get along with, but who she cared about and respected at the same time. She couldn't bear to lose them too. She didn't have time to feel helpless or to break down right now. Her friends were counting on her. So she in took a deep breath and felt around in her pockets for her car keys.

As she walked slowly across the living room, she was startled when Randy said something from behind her.

"Where you going, Sid?" he asked in a half-asleep voice.

Sidney froze, "Just... I'm going to my car," she didn't know what to say, "I left something in my car," she lied.

"I'll come with you," Randy yawned as he stretched his arms and started to stand.

"No, no, it's fine," Sidney shook her head, "I'll just be a minute. Go back to sleep, Randy."

"Hm um," he refused, "the killer could be out there. No way am I letting you go outside in the middle of the night all by yourself," as Randy walked toward her and finally was fully awake, he seemed to notice something in her demeanor, "what's wrong, Sid? What's going on?" he wondered.

Sidney hesitated. She really didn't want Randy involved in this if he didn't have to be.

"Sidney, what is it?" he asked with wide, concerned eyes.

She remained quiet. How could she convince Randy to let her go on her own? No way would he allow her to go meet up with the killer all by herself. But it seemed he didn't even want her walking ten feet to her car without a chaperon. There was no chance that she was going to get out of this house in the next few minutes without him following close behind. And if what the killer had said on the phone wasn't a lie, Dewey and Gale didn't have the luxury of time. She couldn't just wait for Randy to fall back to sleep. They could be dead by then.

"Sidney," he spoke again, "you've gotta talk to me, Sid," Randy was frowning and his eyebrows were knitted together with worry.

"I called Gale's cell phone to check in on her," Sidney finally answered. There was no way she could keep this from Randy. He knew her too well and could spot her lies better than anyone. She also was wasting precious time. The killer told her to be at the motel in fifteen minutes, "the killer answered. He told me to meet him at the motel where Gale's staying."

"That's a terrible idea, Sid," Randy shook his head as though completely confused, "don't do that... Why would you do that?"

"He's got Gale and Dewey," Sidney frowned, "he says he'll kill them if he sees any cops. And he says I've got fifteen minutes to get there. I can't just let them die, Randy."

"They could already be dead, Sid," Randy stared at her with wide eyes, "I think the cops need to deal with this. What are you going to do? If you go, he'll just kill you too."

"If the cops try to save them, they'll end up dead. This is Gale and Dewey we're talking about, Randy," Sidney frowned, "I can't bear to lose anyone else. I've got to do this."

Randy shook his head, "I guess I've got to go with you then."

"No, Randy," Sidney demanded, "I can't ask you to do that. He didn't ask for you. If I get killed, it's on me. If you get killed, I'll never forgive myself."

"The feeling is mutual, Sid. If I let you go alone and you get hurt," he closed his eyes and shook his head, "it would be too much for me to handle... Way too much. I already lost the other girl I care about most on earth. I can't lose you too."

Sidney couldn't help but smile, "Alright," she exhaled, "well, we don't have time to waste."

Randy nodded, "Let's go get this guy."

xxxxxx


	19. That's One Strong Door

xxxxxx

They had gone through the motel's office much more extensively than they probably should have, considering it was a crime scene, but Gale and Dewey had not found anything useful other than a baseball bat which the manager had sowed away under the desk. Dewey had decided to hold onto that for now, to use as a weapon if he needed to. The room keys were either hidden someplace they couldn't think to look, or someone else had gotten to them before the reporter and cop had.

Gale figured the killer had probably taken all the card keys. That would explain how he got into the room next to Gale's, and how he got into Xavier's, if he even had. Gale still wasn't sure if her camera man was likely dead, or likely a killer. It had to be one of those possibilities, or else he would have answered when they had knocked. Gale frowned when she realized that either way, she'd never be working with Xavier again. She never really bonded with him much, but he was still a consistency in her life. Considering that he was probably either dead, or had just tried to kill her, Gale knew she'd have to find a new camera man now... again.

As for attempting to use some sort of registry to determine who was renting that third room, they didn't have any luck at all. It seemed this information was stored on the computer, which was password protected. The only person who might be able to give them the password was lying dead under the desk.

"Maybe we should just get out to the road and start walking toward town," Gale suggested.

Dewey shook his head, "it's probably ten miles into town, Gale... You're soaking wet and already shivering. And you're probably hurt more than you realize, from the killer trying to strangle you. I just don't know if walking ten miles is such a good idea for you right now."

"I can handle it, Dewey," Gale frowned. Sure, she wasn't in the best condition of her life. Her throat still burned, she was indeed shivering from the chill air, and her body ached from having been thrown to the ground, grabbed too harshly, and punched, but she could still walk, "do you have any better ideas? You want to just sit here until someone else decides to rent a room? If you haven't noticed, Xavier and I, and whoever was next door to me are the only people staying here. And that third person might actually be the killer. People don't come by here. If we wait for help that we didn't call for, we might be waiting forever."

"We could at least try to break down the door and get to your cellphone before walking," Dewey suggested.

"Are you kidding me, Dewey?" Gale scowled at him, "I don't think breaking a door down is going to be as easy as you think it is."

"I don't think walking ten miles is going to be as easy as you think it is," Dewey countered.

"Fine," Gale shook her head in annoyance.

She followed Dewey back outside. The pool, which was around the side of the building, gave off a faint, irritating glow which could be seen even before they turned the corner. As they walked past the pool, Gale gazed out over the blue water, which was actually beginning to make he feel sick. She was so tired of seeing that damn pool. Gale peered over the edge and saw a black shape at the bottom. It was the knife she had kicked into the pool before. At least the killer was unarmed.

"I thought I dropped my gun over here," Dewey sounded confused as he looked around at the end of the pool.

"Is it in the water?" Gale wondered, glancing back and scanning the bottom of the pool. She didn't see anything out of the ordinary besides the knife at the other end.

Dewey shook his head, "No. I just dropped it where I stood. I wasn't close enough for it to land in the water. And I remember hearing it hit the ground. It should be right here..."

"Well, the killer probably took it," Gale raised an eyebrow at him. So much for him being unarmed, "right before he took your car."

"Shit," Dewey frowned, "you're probably right." The cop looked around in the darkness, "but since he took my car, he probably went back into town. Otherwise, if he just wanted us to not have a way out, he'd have slashed the tires or something. He actually took it, so he must have been planning on driving somewhere... Man... we really need to alert someone of what's going on. They need to know that the killer is probably armed with a gun, and is in a police car. This is bad, Gale."

"No shit," Gale rolled her eyes.

They made their way back to Gale's room. They paused in front of the door and looked at it. The note the killer had written was still stuck to the door, right under the motel room's number.

For a moment, they both just stood there and stared at the door, "this isn't going to work," Gale reminded him.

Dewey sighed and then kicked at the door.

"Ow," he hissed as she limped backward, "that is one strong door..."

"I told you," Gale hugged her arms around herself in an attempt to get warm.

Dewey hadn't given up yet though. He proceeded to slam his shoulder up against the door. It still didn't budge.

Gale winced. He was going to hurt himself if he didn't stop, "it's not going to work, Dewey," she repeated, "you're going to break your arm."

Dewey slammed himself up against the door again, groaning when his shoulder made impact and the door still didn't so much as tremble.

"Dewey, stop," Gale put her hand on his arm. She handed him back the baseball bat he had handed over to her prior to trying the door, "there's no use dislocating your shoulder. Let's just try to walk back to town, Dewey, okay? I'm sorry if I sounded pushy before..."

The officer looked down at her, "let's at least try to find something to dry you off a little. Even something as small as a towel so you can wrap it around you while we walk. I can tell you're freezing, because I was in the same water you were... and I'm freezing."

Gale smiled, "you worry about me too much, Dewey. Cold weather isn't going to kill me. But we can look for something before we go... for your sake. I think there's a laundry room on the other side of the building. Maybe someone left something in there."

Dewey shrugged, "might as well check, right? Then we'll get back to the road and get out of here."

"Fair enough," Gale agreed.

She followed him along the edge of the building until they had walked all the way to the back. In a separate, unlocked room away from all the rent-able rooms, there was a washer and dryer. Dewey opened the door and they both walked inside.

There was a heavy scent of laundry detergent and fabric softener in the room. It was almost enough to make Gale want to leave the room entirely. But it was warmer in here than outside. She reached toward the dryer and opened it. Of course there was nothing inside.

"Washer's empty," Dewey told her.

"So is the dryer," she slammed the door back shut and looked around the room. There was a small coat rack with a couple empty hangers on it as well as a counter, which also had nothing on it, "well, I guess this wasn't a very good idea," she remarked.

"Let's just go then," Dewey sounded disappointed.

"Sorry, Dewey," Gale frowned, "but we'll be warmer when we start walking," she tried to cheer him up, "and we'll be back in town in no time. We can go back to your house, take a warm shower," she started, "let someone else process the crime scene, for once... Honestly, you can't keep working twenty-four seven."

Dewey looked down, "I just really want to catch this guy. It's hard to feel right about letting someone else do a job that you know you can do, and that you know is so important."

Gale nodded. She understood that more than anyone. No one's reporting even compared to hers, which is why she rarely took a sick day. She didn't want some other reporter on during her screen time. Not when she knew that they couldn't possibly do her own reporting justice, "I guess there's nothing left to do but walk back into town then," Gale reminded him.

Dewey pulled the door open and waited for Gale to walk out first. Gale offered him a small smile before she exited the room. He was always being quite the stereotypical gentleman.

As soon as Gale took that first step out of the door, she immediately collided with someone, and she immediately screamed in shock and stumbled backward.

"Gale!" it was Cotton Weary's voice. He reached out and put his hands on her shoulders to steady her, "oh my god, Gale; you're freezing."

The reporter stared up at Cotton for a very short second. Why was he here? Before she had a chance to question him, Dewey had grabbed her and pulled her behind him, so that the cop stood between the two of them.

"Cotton," Dewey spoke with much skepticism in his voice, "what are you doing here?" he wondered.

"Are you guys okay?" Cotton ignored Dewey's question and asked his own.

Gale could only stare at him from behind Dewey. She still didn't think Cotton could be the killer, but the fact that he was here was very unsettling. He had no reason to have come here. He lived in Woodsboro, so he wouldn't need a place to stay. Gale had worked with him extensively in the past, but hadn't really spoken to him for some time, "Why are you here, Cotton?" she spoke in a voice that was still strained from her earlier violent run-in with the killer.

Cotton shifted his weight from one foot to the other, "I got a call, from your cellphone, Gale," he started.

"I didn't call you, Cotton," Gale frowned. What was he talking about?

"No, it wasn't you," Cotton explained, "I have caller ID on my phone. It said it was you, so I answered. I don't answer if I don't know who's calling," he began to ramble, "somehow I guess my number got out to a couple of the wrong people. I get prank calls all the time."

"Who was it, Cotton?" Gale asked. Maybe the killer had taken her phone before he had left the motel in Dewey's car. If he had all the rooms' key cards, he certainly could have done so, "did the killer call you?" Gale wondered.

"Yeah," Cotton exhaled tiredly, "I mean, I guess. He didn't confess to any of the murders or anything, but he said if I didn't get here soon, he'd kill you guys."

"What?" Gale glanced nervously around the motel's back parking lot between the building and the trees, "there's no one else here, Cotton. The killer attacked me earlier, but then Dewey showed up and when Dewey was distracted, the killer took his car and left. He's gone... But I guess he's got my cell phone. Maybe he's trying to distract you from something."

"Or maybe he's trying to distract you from something, Gale," Dewey spoke with an edge to his voice, "think about it, Gale. The killer left. Cotton showed up... Just put the pieces together."

Gale shook her head, "what exactly did he say to you, Cotton?" she asked.

"I don't remember the wording exactly, but he said that he had both of you here at the motel, and that if I didn't show up, and with no cops, he'd kill you both," Cotton explained, "I figured since he had your cell phone, he was probably telling the truth."

Gale nodded. That sounded reasonable, "Dewey," Gale put her hand on Dewey's shoulder to gain his attention.

"Yeah?" he refused to turn around, keeping his eyes on Cotton.

"Cotton can take us back into town," she reminded him. They had no other means of transportation. Cotton was their way out of this.

"Yeah," Cotton agreed with a bit of awkwardness in his voice, "I can drive you guys back."

Dewey hesitated, "let us talk this out for a second," he suggested, "we'll be right back," he pushed Gale back toward the laundry room and followed her inside, "Gale," he whispered, "just how much do you trust this guy? The killer probably has my gun, so if Cotton's the killer, and we get into a car with him..."

"We don't have many options, Dewey," Gale frowned, "but I do trust him. He comes across the wrong way to a lot of people, but so do I. So do you. You've got to give him the chance he deserves. People don't take you seriously, but you're such a good cop. You were given a chance to prove yourself, and you did. People think I'm a cold hearted bitch, but... well," she hesitated. She wasn't sure which examples she could really give to disprove that one.

"Don't say that, Gale," Dewey looked hurt, "I would have never fallen in love with someone who was cold hearted."

Gale paused as she looked up into his eyes, "you're in love with me?"

"Of course I am," Dewey looked back into her eyes and smiled, "you've grown on me, Gale."

Gale laughed. She had various sorts of relationships with a whole lot of people in this world. Most of them ranged somewhere between enemies, casual acquaintances, and professional colleagues. She wasn't sure anyone else on the entire planet could actually claim with honesty that they loved her, "you didn't even have to grow on me, Dewey," she gazed at him.

They were drawn out of the moment when they heard a knock at the door.

"I'm getting a little nervous out here," they heard Cotton's voice, "if the killer really is here, I'd like to leave soon if that's possible. Standing right out here in the open doesn't seem like a great idea," he called through the door.

"What do you say, Dewey?" Gale looked up at him, "give him a chance? You gave me one."

Dewey sighed, "I guess," he finally agreed, "but I'm sitting up front with him."

Gale smiled and the two of them made their way back outside to join Cotton.

Still keeping Gale safely behind him, Dewey nodded toward Cotton, "let's get out of here."

xxxxxx


	20. Reunion

xxxxxx

As Sidney pulled her car slowly into the motel's parking lot, she quickly scanned her eyes over the scene. There were three cars in the parking lot and she didn't recognize any of them. Dewey's police car wasn't here. One was probably Gale's camera man's car... The others could have very well been the cars of other patrons of the motel. Everything seemed eerily quiet. The parking lot was lit by street lamps and a blue glow could be seen coming from the direction of an outdoor pool. Since there were so few guests at the motel, it would be easy for someone planning murder to take out the few potential witnesses prior to doing whatever he or she had planned.

She gasped as she noticed movement out of the corner of her eye. It looked like someone had just run out of her sight and behind the building.

"Did you see that, Randy?" she whispered, "I think someone's over there," she gestured toward the spot where she had seen the movement.

Randy peered through the windshield and shrugged, "I guess I missed it."

Sidney inhaled a deep breath to prepare herself for the uncertainty of what was to come. She gripped some pepper spray on one hand. It was the only thing she had that she figured might be of any use, "you ready?" she turned toward Randy.

Her friend nodded, "more ready now than I'll ever be," he held a tire iron in his hands. They were working with what they had. Since they had been in such a rush to get here, they hadn't even thought to bring any sort of weapon until they were already on the road.

As carefully and quietly as they could manage, the two of them got out of the car and closed its doors behind them. Of course, they had very little idea of what they were dealing with. From what Sidney had been told, she knew Gale and Dewey should be around here somewhere, and of course the killer would likely be with them. She did not know, however, who the killer was, or whether there was one killer, or two, or even three... She didn't know if Gale and Dewey were even still alive. She just knew that they might be, and that she couldn't abandon them to the killer's mercy.

As the two of them began to walk cautiously toward the building, Sidney froze in her tracks. She narrowed her eyes as she saw someone approaching from around the back of the building, not the same side the other shadowy figure had darted off around though.

"Cotton?" she whispered. Following behind him were Gale and Dewey.

"Sidney?" he looked and sounded very confused as his eyes darted between Sidney and Randy, "what are you guys doing here?"

"What are you doing here, Cotton?" Sidney gripped her pepper spray tightly in her hand, which was stuffed out of sight in her jacket's pocket.

"The killer called me," Cotton answered, "he told me he was going to kill Gale and Dewey if I didn't meet him here. But I got here, and he was nowhere to be found, so we're gonna go back into town and call the police."

"The motel manager is dead," Dewey began to explain, "and so might be Xavier and whoever is staying in the room next to Gale's. They won't answer when we knock and the key cards are all gone out of the office. The killer also attacked Gale earlier and took both my car and my gun," the officer averted his eyes as though embarrassed, "It was hectic..." he said in his own defense.

Sidney looked back and forth between Cotton and Dewey. She glanced at Gale, who it seemed Dewey was purposefully keeping behind himself, as though to shield her from any unforeseen danger which may spring up, "are you guys okay?" she asked. It looked like Gale was developing a bruise on her cheek, but it may have just been a shadow.

"We're fine," Gale assured her, "but I think we should get out of here."

Sidney nodded. This was way too easy. She narrowed her eyes at Cotton again. Why would the killer call him? And why would he risk his life to save Gale and Dewey? He didn't really know Dewey... Did he really care about Gale either?

"Alright," Cotton sounded nervous, as he often did, "I'm parked right there," he gestured toward one of the cars, "who's riding with me?"

Gale began to walk toward Cotton's car, but Dewey stopped her, "why don't we go with Sidney, Gale?" he suggested. The officer clearly didn't trust Cotton either. Gale looked disappointed. So did Cotton. Dewey turned toward the other man, "you can meet us at the police station, but it's a crime scene, so wait outside once you get there. I'll go in and find help and we'll organize a way to take down any witness statements from anyone who saw anything, which is all of us, I think."

"Fair enough," Cotton sighed.

"Let's get the hell out of here," Randy finally spoke.

As they turned toward their cars, a booming sound echoed through the night. At first, Sidney wasn't sure what it was. It seemed Randy was confused as well, as she found herself staring at him with confusion, and he stared back, equally confused. She looked toward Dewey, who was sort of bent down and appeared to be shielding Gale with his body. He reached a hand out and grabbed Sidney's wrist as another boom rang out.

It finally occurred to her that these were gunshots they were hearing. She grabbed Randy's arm and they all ran toward the building as three more shots rang out.

When they made it to the sidewalk next to the rooms, they all glanced around at each other. There was a roof over this part of the sidewalk, so she felt a bit more shielded than she had in the parking lot, though she wasn't sure where the shots were even coming from. She looked around at the others. All five of them had managed to make it over here.

"Is anyone hit?" Dewey looked frantically from one person to the next. Sidney shook her head.

"Gale?" Dewey looked down at her, "you okay?"

"I'm fine," she sounded out of breath.

"Randy? Cotton?" Dewey looked from one to the other.

"Holy shit," Randy spoke, "I think it's safe to say that, yes, he's got your gun, Dewey."

The officer rolled his eyes and then looked toward Cotton, "you okay?" he clapped the other man on the shoulder.

"He was shooting out our tires," Cotton remarked as he looked out over the parking lot and gestured toward their cars, "he corralled us all here for a reason, and he's making sure we don't leave."

"I think the shots were coming from the roof," Dewey noted, "he shouldn't be able to hit us here."

"How long are we gonna stay here though?" Randy wondered, "Sure, he can't hit us if he stays on the roof, but do you think he'll stay up there forever? And then, if he does, do we just stand here forever?"

"He's probably going to come after us if we stay down here too long," Cotton guessed, "that is, if he's not already on his way down here. It seems like the point of that was to disable the cars, which he's done. All that's left for him to do now is kill us. He doesn't need to be on a roof top to do that. Especially when he's armed and we aren't."

Sidney's heart sank. The only reason the killer would call them all together like this would be if he was ready to kill them all. But he didn't even take the opportunities given. He could have hit at least one, if not more of them just now, but he went for the cars instead. He wanted them all to die together. He was ready to finish this.

xxxxxx


	21. Cotton's Sacrifice

xxxxxx

Cotton Weary stood awkwardly next to the others as they talked over their plan. The killer seemed to be on the roof, and he was armed with a gun Dewey claimed held fifteen bullets and one in its chamber, for a total of sixteen potential shots to be fired. All five of them agreed that they had heard five shots already. That meant there were eleven left, which was more than enough to kill all of them.

"There's got to be some way onto the roof," Dewey spoke in a hushed whisper, "If a few of us stay down here and talk loud enough where he can hear us, the rest of us can sneak up behind him and catch him off guard."

"I don't think that's gonna work, Dewey," Randy furrowed his eyebrows, "you think he's just going to stare toward the voices and not pay attention to his surroundings at all? He's not a dog or a baby... We can't just distract him with noise."

Dewey shrugged, "do you have any better ideas? We can't get out from under this roof. Of course, if we all just ran, he couldn't hit us all, but he might hit some of us. I don't think that's a risk any of us want to take. We'll go up there quietly, and if it doesn't seem like it'll work, we'll come back down and think of something else."

"So who's going up there?" Cotton frowned.

"You and I can," Dewey suggested.

Cotton nodded as he looked at Dewey's eyes. He could see exactly what the cop was thinking. He wanted to leave those he cared about most down here where he felt they'd be safer. Sidney was like a sister to him, Gale was his girlfriend, and Randy - Cotton wasn't sure who Randy was to Dewey, perhaps just a goofy kid the cop had grown attached to. He must have cared about the young man enough to try to keep him safe for whatever reason.

"I'm not staying down here if you aren't," Gale objected, "you keep doing this, Dewey," she shook her head in annoyance as she tried to keep her voice down, "you keep saying we'll stick together, and then you leave me behind. I'll go where you go."

"I'll just go up there on my own," Cotton offered, "there's no use for more than one person risking their lives. Besides, the fewer people, the quieter it'll be, and the more likely he won't hear us."

"Cotton," Sidney was shaking her head as she stared at him with sympathetic eyes.

"It'll be fine, Sidney," Cotton forced a smile. If anyone had to risk being killed, it might as well be him. Dewey and Gale loved each other. If one died, the other would be devastated. Randy and Sidney were best friends, and were still just teenagers. Cotton didn't really have much family, and certainly had even fewer friends. If it made sense for any of them to risk their life, Cotton had to be the one.

Dewey exhaled, "well, let's make this quick before he comes down and starts looking for us."

"I think I saw some sort of escape ladder around the back," Gale spoke.

"Here," Randy handed him a tire iron which he had been carrying around all this time, "walk up behind him and bash him over the head. Hit him hard. And then hit him hard again. Don't hold back. He deserves it. And don't you forget that he's not going to go down easily. They never do."

Cotton stared at him. Randy was clearly and understandably pissed at this person.

"Someone should go with him at least to the ladder," Gale spoke up, "the killer could have easily come back down by now, and if he's running around down here, anyone who ends up alone is going to be in a whole lot of danger. I don't want to send you off completely on your own, Cotton," she looked at him.

"We'll walk with you to the ladder," Dewey offered, "Sidney, Randy," he looked toward the younger two, "you guys stay here, and maybe make a little noise, but stay aware of your surroundings. If you get a chance to run and get out of here, take it. If you see him on the ground, you might as well make a run for it if you can. Don't worry about the rest of us."

Neither of them looked like they were going to take that advice, but neither of them objected either. It seemed like these four were the sort of group who left no man behind. Cotton wondered if he would be included in that 'leave no man behind' policy. Would they even care if Cotton got himself killed? He wasn't quite sure.

The three of them did not speak as they made their way toward the back of the building as quietly as possible.

Once they reached the ladder, Cotton turned toward Gale and Dewey, "I'll climb up and see if he's up there," he started in the softest whisper possible, "if I don't come back down in about thirty seconds, it means he's up there, and that I'm going after him."

Gale looked extremely nervous, "be careful," she whispered.

"Stay safe," Dewey squeezed his shoulder.

Cotton nodded, "you guys should get back to Sidney and Randy," he suggested, "if I fail in this, I'll probably be dead, so there's no need for you guys to stay split up. The only way I'm coming back down this ladder will be if the killer is dead."

Gale stared at him with huge eyes.

Cotton shook his head, "just get back to the others," he repeated.

Gale didn't move until Dewey started pulling her along with him. He gave them a small wave and then began making his way up the ladder.

Once he was at the top, he peeked up over the edge of the roof. Near the other side, the side closest to the parking lot where his car was parked, paced a dark, shadowy figure. It was actually pretty dark up here. The lamps in the parking lot did little to light above the roof, which was very lucky for Cotton as he stayed low and sneaked across the rooftop.

As he made his way cautiously across the roof, he gripped the tire iron tightly in his hands.

The dark figure he was drawing ever nearer to walked close to the edge of the roof, seemingly toward the place where they had left Sidney and Randy. Cotton supposed they were making a small bit of noise in order to keep the killer's attention in that general direction. Hopefully the fact that he was wearing that awful mask would mean his peripheral vision would be lacking.

Cotton was becoming increasingly nervous as he got closer and closer to the killer. He could swear his own heartbeat was the loudest thing to be heard within a radius of a mile or so. He squeezed the tire iron as he held his breath and moved forward.

Just when Cotton thought he might seriously pull this off, the person near the edge of the roof turned toward him. And the masked figure didn't even seem surprised. He simply turned slowly and stared ahead.

For a moment, Cotton wondered if the killer had even seen him. Maybe the mask made everything look darker to him. Maybe, somehow, Cotton was standing in a blind spot, or perhaps the killer saw pretty much just darkness in this poorly lit area. Cotton stood still as the two of them faced each other in complete silence.

He debated just lunging at the cloaked figure and attacking him, taking his chances and going for it. But then, he could see that the killer held Dewey's gun in his gloved hand. The fight definitely wasn't an equal one. A tire iron could do a lot of damage, but a gun could do more damage, quicker, and from a distance. If Cotton moved to tackle this guy or hit him, he would probably be shot immediately. So instead, Cotton simply stood there and waited to see what would happen.

"Cotton Weary," the killer's oddly disguised voice spoke, "they've sacrificed you."

Cotton frowned as he stared at the mysterious person standing before him, "why don't you take that costume off and talk to me like an adult," he suggested, "who are you? Why are you doing this?" he spoke. Considering he was probably about to die, Cotton hoped he could at least understand what this person hoped to gain from his death, and the deaths of all his previous victims.

"Why did you come here, Cotton?" the killer asked, "you were told that Gale and Dewey were here and at my mercy, and that they would be killed unless you risked your own life to come here. You had to know it wasn't going to be that easy. You had to know I wasn't just going to let everyone go on their merry way. So what have they ever done for you to make you feel like your life was worth risking for theirs?"

Cotton stared angrily ahead at the ghost mask covering the face of the person who stood menacingly before him. He didn't owe this murderer any explanation. He came here because he knew Dewey and Gale were good people. He came here because Gale had once fought for his freedom when no one else would. He came here because Officer Dewey Riley tried so hard to do to the right thing. Cotton didn't want the world to lose these people. He didn't only follow the killer's instructions so that Dewey and Gale's lives might be spared. Part of the reason he came here was so that he might be able to help end this. This person, whoever he or she was, had murdered innocent teenage girls and the father of a young woman whose mother had been killed not all that long before. Cotton wanted to help stop him, and to bring justice for all his victims.

"Well, if you've got nothing else to say, neither have I," the killer shrugged, raised Dewey's gun so that it pointed at Cotton, and fired a single shot.

Cotton felt a piercing pain in his abdomen. He fell back and clutched at the wound. He could feel wet, sticky liquid oozing out between his fingers as he stared up at the night sky filled with stars. It didn't take long at all for those stars to disappear and for everything to fade to black.

xxxxxx


	22. Unmasked

xxxxxx

Clutching at Dewey's sleeve, Gale gasped and flinched as she heard a loud, echoing gunshot from on top of the motel's roof.

By this point, they had made it back to where Sidney and Randy were waiting, but they'd only been there for less than a minute. The gunshot sounded so close. That meant the killer was likely right above them. But what did the gunshot mean? Had Cotton tackled the killer and claimed the gun? Was the killer dead? Or was Cotton? Or maybe neither? Perhaps the gun just went off while the two fought with each other.

"We've got to help him," Gale urged in a panicked whisper as she looked nervously and uselessly above them. Cotton had never done anything to deserve to get shot, and he certainly didn't deserve to be abandoned, left to be shot again.

"That was a gunshot, Gale," Randy whispered back, "just one... and with so screaming or begging afterward... I'm sorry, but if the killer shot him, I think he's already dead."

"Maybe Cotton got the gun. Maybe he shot the killer," Gale hoped.

Randy shook his head, "I think he would have yelled down to us... told us what was going on."

Gale bit her lower lip and felt tears coming to her eyes. Randy was right. The silence after the shot all but confirmed it was Cotton who had been hit, "then let's all go hang out by the ladder. The killer's got to come down eventually. We'll corner him, and between all four of us, we'll be able to get the gun away from him."

"That's awfully risky," Dewey looked uneasy, "it's a gun. One wrong move and one of us will end up dead."

"Would you rather him pick us off one by one anyway? I think it's time to show this fucker what we're made of. There are four of us, and only one of him," she whispered as softly as she could, "we've got to stop him," she turned toward Sidney and Randy, "for your dad... and for your sister. Their justice warrants a bit of risk."

Sidney nodded, "she's right, Dewey," she turned toward the cop, "we can't keep hiding like this. Running away doesn't solve things with this killer. It's a temporary fix, but if we want to stop him, we've got to confront him."

Dewey sighed, "I guess so..."

Randy nodded in agreement and the four of them made their way back toward the back of the building.

Gale led the way as they made their way past the pool and around toward the laundry room. The ladder was right next to the laundry room's door. Gale gestured for everyone to quietly file into the laundry room so that the killer could not see they were there before he made his way down the ladder.

"How are we gonna go about this?" Randy wondered in a hushed whisper, "are we just going to tackle him or what?"

"Whatever it takes," Gale shrugged as she peered out the tiny crack she left between the door and its frame so that she could see when the killer found his way back down to the ground.

"I have pepper spray," Sidney offered, "let me go at him first. I'll spray his eyes and then we can work toward getting the gun away from him."

Gale glanced back at her. The thought of allowing Sidney to go after their killer in front of everyone else made her feel extremely guilty - a feeling she was not at all accustomed to, "I can take the the pepper spray," she offered, holding out her hand.

"No, Gale," Sidney shook her head, "you can't do this all on your own. The reason we all agreed this idea might work is that all four of us will be here working toward the same goal."

"But... Sidney," Gale shook her head, but she didn't know what else to say.

"We'll be fine," Sidney forced a smile as she joined Gale at the door, "if we can get to him while he's still going down the ladder, we'll have an advantage."

Gale nodded and everyone grew silent so they could listen for the killer's footfalls on the ladder's rungs.

The wait seemed excruciating. They all wanted this to be over, but at the same time, they dreaded the possibility that they would fail and that their lives may soon be over. Going after an armed killer was certainly not a failproof plan. This was going to end tonight, for the four of them at least, either with the killer dead, or with them dead.

After much too long, and yet somehow also not long enough, they heard the sound of feet coming down the ladder.

Gale stared with wide eyes at Sidney, who nodded back toward her to signify that she was ready. And with that, the four of them rushed out of the laundry room at toward the ladder...

Gale couldn't see where the killer had stashed the gun. She could see Randy's tire iron somehow hanging off the killer's waist, but the gun was nowhere to be seen. Perhaps it was on the other side.

Without any further delay, Gale ran up behind him and grabbed the back of the dark cloak he was wearing. She tugged him down off the ladder so that he fell right on top of her.

They were both on the ground within seconds, but fortunately the killer didn't have time to turn himself around and kill her. Dewey pulled him up off her and shoved him away while Sidney sprayed him, as best as the mask would allow, with her pepper spray, while Randy gripped toward the tire iron which he had given to Cotton earlier. Obviously the killer had taken it from him.

"Fuck!" the killer's disguised voice growled as he stumbled backward and produced his gun from somewhere, "get the fuck back!" he demanded, "all of you! I will shoot every damn one of you!" he growled.

Gale stepped back, as did everyone else. But none of them knew what to do. Should they try to get the gun from him while he was partially vulnerable? Should they run while the killer was unable to see well? Or should they just hold still and hope for the best?

Gale was about to dive toward the killer when, with a frustrated growl, he began shooting indiscriminately in front of himself.

She heard a collective scream from everyone as three shots were fired toward them. Dewey instinctively ducked down as he reached his hands out toward Gale and Sidney in an effort to pull them downward as well. Gale contemplated running, but didn't want to be shot in the back for her efforts.

After those quick three shots, it seemed like the killer had gotten the urge to fire his weapon wildly toward them out of his system. But they hadn't all been lucky enough to escape this terrifying moment unharmed.

"Ah," Randy groaned, "fuck!" Gale stared toward him. He was clutching at his arm. Blood was seeping from between his fingers. He had been hit, but fortunately only in the arm.

Sidney pulled him back against the building's wall and pressed her own hand down on top of his, "Oh my god," her voice shook, "you're going to be okay, Randy," she assured him.

Gale glanced back toward Dewey, who seemed unharmed. Only Randy had been hit, and his wound didn't seem fatal. She then brought her gaze back toward the killer, who continued to swear under his breath as he yanked his mask off and rubbed his eyes with his gloved hands.

Gasps could be heard from all four of them as they finally saw who had been under the mask.

It was Xavier, Gale's camera man.

Shaking her head, Gale stared past the gun still pointed in their direction and at the man she had been working with over the past months, "Xavier... why?" was all she could come up with. He had seemed so easy-going, "why would you do this?" she shook her head as she continued to stare at him. She couldn't believe this.

"I knew it," Randy groaned between pained breaths, "I knew that guy was up to something. No one willingly works with Gale without some sort of ulterior motive."

"To be fair," Xavier laughed, "Randy's right. I've had an ulterior motive all along, Miss Weathers."

Gale frowned. She couldn't understand this. Xavier always seemed to like his job, and sure, they weren't best friends or anything, but they got along okay. Why would he kill all these people?

"Now, which one of you fuckers sprayed me with the pepper spray?" he growled as he stared at them. His eyes looked very irritated, but he wasn't rubbing them so much anymore. Instead, he just blinked them more often than normal, "hm? Which one of you?" he asked again, shaking the gun in his hand for emphasis.

No one spoke up.

"Why are you doing this, Xavier?" Gale asked again. She felt Dewey's hand gripping her arm tightly as the officer took a step forward so that he was partially in front of her.

"Because, Gale," Xavier stared bitterly toward her, "I'm tired of this, all of this. I'm tired of being your glorified errand boy. You have no respect for me. No one does. I see all the things you see. I'm there at all the news sites, all the crime scenes, all the disasters. I go to the dangerous places where all the news is, and I get jack shit for it. I'm tired of being behind the camera. I deserve respect, fame, notoriety... I'm sick of being hidden."

Gale shook her head, "that's the job, Xavier... That's the job you applied for. Camera man... Did you think you'd be doing anything other than filming from behind the camera? You knew you'd be hauling equipment around and you'd have to come along with me with only a moment's notice... You knew all this... and you never complained... I don't understand where this is all coming from..."

"I just want my fifteen minutes of fame," Xavier sighed, "just like anyone else. You all got yours. It's my turn."

"You're going to be in prison, Xavier," Gale spoke as though explaining this to a child, "you'll get your fame, but you'll be behind bars for it. Why would you want that?"

"You're confused, Gale," Xavier said in a mocking tone, "I didn't kill anyone. I'm just the only living witness."

"They'll know it was you," Dewey spoke.

"Why were half the victims killed with your gun, Officer Riley?" Xavier smirked.

"No one's going to believe that," Sidney growled from behind them. Her voice shook with worry. She was still sitting against the wall, applying pressure to Randy's arm wound, "Why would Dewey, one of the most kind-hearted people anyone in Woodsboro has ever met, kill his friends, his co-worker, and his girlfriend? Why would he kill innocent teenagers?"

"Why wouldn't he?" Xavier countered, "no one takes Officer Riley seriously," he mocked, "you can do everything right, Dewey, do everything by the book, and yet everyone still sees you as a dumb rookie. But for a brief period, people saw you as a hero. You were one of the only survivors of the Woodsboro massacre. Out of everyone there that night, there were four to survive, and you even survived after having been stabbed. People adored you. And then they forgot you. But you didn't forget the feeling of fame, and the feeling of respect. So you lured back your friends, the other survivors. You killed Randy's sister so he'd return, and you knew Sidney would come with him. And of course Gale, being the vulture she is, would return for the news story. You killed the 911 operator when she leaked the recording of your voice. You even killed your friend Marcus, maybe just so there would be fewer cops to take your spotlight."

Gale glanced toward Dewey, who stood with his fists clenched and a scowl on his face as he listened to Xavier's lies.

"I suppose you killed Sidney's dad just to spite her. I don't know how your crazy mind works. But he did technically survive the first massacre. The media just didn't care so much about him," Xavier laughed, "and then, Dewey, you lured everyone here and finished the job so that you'd be the soul survivor. But you didn't realize that Gale's camera man would be so saddened at the loss of his good friend and coworker, Miss Weathers. You didn't realize how much fight I had in me. And I stopped you, too late to save these people, but quick enough to save everyone you could have killed later. I'm the hero."

"There's no way you'll get away with his," Sidney spoke up, "the police aren't blind. They've been gathering evidence from every crime scene. They'll link something back to you. They'll find inconsistencies in your story. Dewey probably has an alibi for the times several of these murders took place. You can't blame it all on him when people can vouch for his presence elsewhere."

Xavier nodded, "so Dewey wasn't working alone... I wonder who his accomplice was... We may never know. I myself live in constant fear that Dewey's co-conspirator will one day return. The vision of this demented cop killing my friend Gale will always haunt my nightmares, and knowing that his partner is still out there someone gives me chills," he grinned, "that'll sound beautiful on the news."

"You're sick," Randy growled through clenched teeth. He was obviously in pain from the gunshot he took to his arm.

"Hush now," Xavier gestured with the gun in his hand, "let's all start making our way over toward the pool," he ordered, "Slowly, and no sudden movements. I will shoot anyone who I think is going to try something."

Gale inhaled shaking breaths as the four of them did as they were told and began walking toward the motel's pool. How were they going to get out of this? It seemed their best chance would be to run or to overpower Xavier and get the gun from him. But either of those options would probably involve at least someone dying or getting seriously injured.

As they walked onward, she felt Dewey's hand grab hers. She glanced over at him. He looked nervous, but stoic at the same time. She wondered if he was planning an escape.

When they reached the pool, they stopped. That's where Xavier had told them to go.

Gale turned around slowly and stared at her camera man, "I'm sorry if you thought I wasn't very nice to you," she began, "I never meant to make you feel disrespected. I spent a lot of time when my previous camera man, and he was killed. That hurt more than anyone could realize. I guess I was just keeping my distance from you subconsciously, but I never meant anything by it..."

"Gale," Xavier shook his head, "I don't care about that at all. Sure, you weren't always the best person to work with, but I knew what I was getting into when I was hired. I knew we weren't ever going to be best friends. And for all your snarky comments and lack of appreciation shown, you weren't really that bad. Your flaws were more along the lines of not being friendly enough than actually being rude. This isn't about revenge against you specifically. This isn't really even about you at all. Or Dewey, Sidney, Randy, or anyone else. This is about me this time. I'm the survivor. I'm the one who was almost killed, but who survived."

Gale frowned and stared at him. She couldn't believe she never suspected him. She supposed she just never knew him all that well.

"Alright, everybody turn around. I'll make this quick," he held the tire iron in one hand and the gun in the other.

Dewey squeezed Gale's hand again, but then let go and pushed her gently away from himself, "run!" he called out to his friends as he lunged forward toward Xavier.

Gasping, Gale stumbled backward where the cop had shoved her as she saw Dewey struggling with the black-clad camera man. The police officer grabbed at the hand in which Xavier held the gun, but the camera man had two more weapons than Dewey did. He swung his other hand at the cop, hitting him quite harshly with the tire iron so that he stumbled backward.

Gale glanced back at Sidney and Randy, who seemed stunned, "get him out of here, Sidney," she urged. If Sidney and Randy could get away, then Gale and Dewey would only have to worry about themselves and each other. If there were to come an opportunity for some of them to escape, it was now, "Go!" she insisted.

Sidney reluctantly pulled Randy along with her as Gale rushed to Dewey's aid, but not soon enough to really be of any help.

Xavier growled in frustration as he hit Dewey with the tire iron again, against the side of his head this time. Gale watched as the officer stumbled backward into the pool with a huge splash. Dewey did not flail around. In fact, he didn't move at all in any attempt to stay afloat. He was unconscious.

Gale flinched as Xavier fired a few shots in the direction Sidney and Randy had run. She looked toward the direction they had gone, but didn't see them. They had gotten away. Before she could celebrate that fact, she needed to help Dewey. Without a second thought, she dove into the pool and dragged his body with her to the edge, being sure to keep his head above the cold water.

With her arm wrapped around Dewey's chest, she could feel that he was still breathing. Her other hand gripped the edge of the pool to keep them from sinking. She couldn't possibly drag both herself and Dewey up out of the pool, and didn't see much of a point in trying considering that Xavier was now staring down at her and pointing his gun directly at them.

All she could do was grip Dewey tightly as she stared up at her former camera man. Talking to him hadn't worked, and they had no chance at escape considering that Dewey was unconscious and Gale couldn't possibly get him out of the pool fast enough to also escape without Xavier firing the two shots that would end their lives. It looked like she and Dewey weren't going to be lucky enough to get out of this this time. At least Randy and Sidney had gotten away...

Xavier breathed in heavy breaths as he stared down angrily at the reporter and cop, "I wish I could stay and chat, Gale," he muttered, "but I've got two witnesses I'm going to need to get rid of. It's been an interesting ride..."

Gale held her breath and squeezed her eyes shut as she hugged Dewey with a trembling arm.

She heard one shot, then two, then a heavy thud, and then silence...

Gale's eyes shot open. She hadn't been hit. But had Dewey? She looked over him as best as their position could allow. The water wasn't red around them. He didn't seem to have been shot either.

With confusion clouding her mind, she looked over to where Xavier had stood. He was lying on the ground now. Gale furrowed her brows as she looked back toward the parking lot. Who had shot him?

xxxxxx


	23. Sheriff Jones Arrives

xxxxxx

Dewey groaned as he struggled to open his eyes. He had a splitting headache and wasn't sure if he was alive or dead. He could feel that his clothing was soaked, even more soaked than it had been before. The last thing he remembered was fighting with the killer. He had told everyone else to run. He hoped they had gotten away.

As he brought his hand up to his head, he realized he wasn't just lying on the ground. He was in someone's arms.

He opened his eyes in time to see a very unfocused image of Gale's face starting down at him, "Dewey?" her voice sounded so worried.

"Gale," he blinked a few times to focus his vision, "are you okay?" he wondered as he dragged himself up into a sitting position and stared into her eyes. She looked worried, and she was just as soaked as he was, "what happened?" he frowned.

"I'm fine, Dewey," Gale smiled but had tears in her eyes, "are you okay?"

Dewey forced himself to sit up completely and looked around the scene within which he presently found himself. By the pool was a body covered by a sheet. Sheriff Jones squatted near the body as he took photographs of something on the ground. Woodsboro's newest police officer, Samantha knelt down near the corner of the building, talking to someone Dewey couldn't see, as they were around the corner and on the other side of the wall.

"What happened?" Dewey frowned. The body under the sheet was unsettling. While he wanted to hope it was the killer, and while it made sense for it to be considering he and Gale were still alive, he didn't want to assume only to be crushed with grief. Sidney and Randy were nowhere to be seen, "whose body is that? How did Jones get here? Gale, tell me what happened. Are Sidney and Randy okay?"

Gale shook her head, "they're fine, Dewey. It all happened so fast. After you told everyone to run, Xavier hit you and you fell in the pool. I went in after you, and I thought for sure that were were going to be shot. I didn't know what I could do... But then the sheriff showed up and shot Xavier. He's dead, Dewey. It's all over. Jones helped me get you out of the pool, but that was only a few minutes ago. I still don't know how he knew to come here. Everything has been so hectic."

"Let's figure out what's going on," Dewey suggested, pulling himself to his feet.

Gale stood up next him, "are you sure you're okay to walk?" she frowned, "he hit you pretty hard..."

"I'm fine," Dewey insisted. His head did hurt, but he couldn't just lie down and give up over a headache.

He smiled as Gale wrapped her arm around him. He put his arm over her shoulders as well. They were both lucky to be alive.

The two of them made their way to the corner where Samantha was and finally saw who she was speaking to. As Dewey suspected, Sidney and Randy were sitting on the sidewalk. Randy looked like he was in pain as Sidney sat next to him. Someone had given Randy some sort of bandage to hold over the bullet wound on his arm.

"Oh!" Samantha seemed surprised when she noticed Dewey and Gale, "Officer Riley! Sir. You're okay," she breathed out a sigh of relief, "there are some ambulances on the way. That's what I was telling Randy, here. I think he'll be fine, so don't worry. I've called for backup, so we should be able to get this scene in better order in a few minutes."

Dewey nodded. The scene was a fairly huge mess right now. Considering all that had happened here, two officers taking care of it all seemed like not nearly enough. Randy had been shot, the motel's manager was dead, and whoever was in the room next to Gale was probably dead as well. Cotton seemed to have been shot as well, but they had never gotten a chance to check and see if he may have survived.

"Sam," Dewey started, "Cotton Weary was here with us. We went up on the roof and tried to sneak up on the killer, but we heard a gunshot and haven't seen him since... He's still up there. He might be alive."

"I'll check right away, sir," she began to walk briskly off toward where the sheriff was working.

"Sam," Dewey called after her, "there's a ladder at the back of the building."

She nodded and walked off.

"You guys okay?" Dewey turned now to Sidney and Randy.

Randy nodded, but still looked pained. Sidney nodded as well, "we'll be fine Dewey," she frowned, "I didn't know what to do when you told us to run. I didn't want to leave you there. But then I thought maybe we could at least try to find someone who could help. It may have been our only chance to get away for a moment. We were going to run toward the road and flag someone down before coming back, but we ran into the sheriff and Sam on their way in."

"Why were they here?" Gale wondered, "how did they know to come?"

"I can explain that," Sheriff Jones walked up from behind them, "After Dewey left the crime scene at Sidney's house he followed her to make sure she and Randy got there safely. After that, I couldn't get a hold of him on his radio. So naturally I was pretty worried. He wouldn't answer the phone at his house either, so I assumed he may have gone in your direction, Gale. Knowing that this murderer had seemed to imply wanting to reunite those who survived the Woodsboro murders of two years ago, and taking into account who all was murdered and who had personal connections with the victims, it was logical to think the killer might be targeting any one of you. Since I couldn't get a hold of Dewey, I figured I'd check here for him, and maybe even scan the area briefly while I was here, just to make sure everything seemed to be calm. I hadn't expected the killer to actually be here."

Dewey looked toward the sound of a siren as an ambulance pulled into the parking lot. Another ambulance followed close behind, and a police car followed behind that.

The officer looked back toward the sheriff, "well, you had perfect timing, Sheriff," Dewey forced a smile.

"I certainly did," Jones clapped his hand over Dewey's shoulder, "you didn't look so well when I got here, and you certainly were in a precarious position, even if you weren't even aware of it. I think if I had been a single second later, the killer might have shot you both. Who was he anyway?"

"He was my camera man," Gale frowned and looked down at her shoes, "Xavier was his name. I had no idea... I came back to report on all this. I didn't know I was bringing the killer with me."

Jones nodded as he looked at the reporter who refused to make eye contact with him. For once, he actually seemed sympathetic towards Gale, who ordinarily frustrated him beyond reason, "you couldn't have known, Gale," Jones spoke in a comforting tone, "none of this is your fault, no matter what. He didn't come here because of you. You came here because of him. If you hadn't come back to report on the story, he probably would have just killed more and more people until you did. This is on him, not you."

"I know," She sighed, but Dewey felt under his arm that her shoulders were still slumped. Of course she felt bad for having been so close to the killer all this time and for having no idea all along.

Dewey squeezed his arm around her.

"I need a paramedic up here!" they all looked up toward the sound as they heard Sam's voice from up on the roof, "I've got a man shot in the chest. He's still breathing!"

Gale and Dewey made eye contact for a brief moment. Gale's blue eyes were huge, "Cotton," she whispered, "he's alive!"

At the same time, two of the paramedics who had just arrived and who had been walking toward the group looked up toward the roof, "where is she? The woman who's yelling? The roof? How do we get up there?" one of them asked as she looked at the small group of people who were gathered on the sidewalk.

"There's a ladder in the back," Gale informed her, "I'll show you," the reporter rushed off toward the back of the building, with the two paramedics following close behind her.

The other paramedics who were in the second ambulance to arrive walked up to them next, "we were told someone had a gunshot wound?" one of them spoke as he looked everyone over, immediately noticing Randy who had a very bloody wad of gauze pressed over his arm.

"That would be me," he offered a half-smile as he raised his uninjured arm up.

Randy, followed closely by Sidney, was led toward the second ambulance.

"What the hell happened here, Dewey?" Jones finally asked now that the two of them were alone. Why were you all here? How did Xavier get your gun? And where is your car?"

Dewey sighed, "I came by to check on Gale after I made sure Sidney and Randy made it home. When I got here, the killer was attacking Gale. He had her on the ground by the pool and was strangling her," he frowned as he remembered that horrifying moment he had lived through not all that long ago, "I had my gun drawn, but I couldn't fire. He held Gale too closely and I didn't want to risk her getting hurt. But she was unconscious and he threw her into the pool. So I dropped my gun and went in after her. While I was trying to wake her up, the killer took my car, and I guess my gun too."

The sheriff nodded as he listened, "sounds like you guys have been very lucky tonight. Everyone just so happened to show up at the right time. You and Gale are both lucky to be alive. How did the others end up here?"

"Cotton showed up and said the killer had called him and told him to meet him here. Sidney and Randy claimed the same thing happened to them. The killer allegedly said that he would kill me and Gale if they didn't listen to him. Sid, Randy, and Cotton didn't know that the killer didn't really have us held hostage or anything. We didn't even know the killer was still here. I thought he had taken my gun and car and went back into town. But I guess he was here the whole time."

"We're going to have to take down a hell of a lot of statements from all of you," the sheriff noted, "I mean, we've caught him. There's no fear of him killing anyone else, but we still need to wrap this up nicely and tie it with a big clean cut bow. We've got to be thorough."

"I understand completely," Dewey agreed, "I can even help with that if you want. With questioning people, I mean."

Jones shook his head, "that's probably not a good idea. You're a witness too. It would be best to have an unbiased third party to document everything."

The younger man nodded, "I guess you're probably right."

"You've been a huge help in all of this though, Dwight," Jones put his hand on Dewey's shoulder and squeezed lightly, "I don't think anyone on the force has been as dedicated as you. You worked long hours on this one, and didn't stop until the killer was caught. Sidney told me you saved her and Randy too. She said you tackled the killer so they could get away. You should be proud."

Dewey looked down, a bit embarrassed, "Well... I did what anyone in my position would have done. I couldn't let them get killed if there was anything I could do to prevent it. Sidney's like a sister to me. And Randy's a good kid too. They didn't deserve any of this. I had to help them get away. I think Xavier was ready to execute all four of us at that point. I had to do something."

"It was a bold, brave move, officer," Jones offered him a smile.

"Thank you, sir," Dewey couldn't help but smile as well. He had finally done something right.

xxxxxx


	24. Dry Clothes

xxxxxx

Dewey stepped out of the passenger side of Gale's car and began making his way toward the front door of his house. After Gale had assisted the paramedics in finding a way to get Cotton down from the motel's roof, she had insisted that they go to the hospital. Cotton didn't have any family in Woodsboro, and wasn't necessarily a very popular guy. If they didn't go to the hospital to support him, it was quite possible no one would. They also each wanted to know if Randy was doing okay.

But first, they needed to get dressed in something dry. It had been hours since Dewey had jumped into the pool to save Gale from drowning, and they had been soaked and freezing ever since. Just as soon as they were finally feeling like they were drying off a bit, Dewey had been knocked back into the pool, and of course Gale had followed. Now they were drenched all over again.

Sam had driven them to the park where Gale had left her car. They needed to have their own transportation back again. Dewey's police car was actually found driven off the road a short distance from the motel, but it was considered evidence now, since the killer had driven it there. Gale had driven them back to Dewey's house, and would drive them to the hospital as soon as they were dressed.

Dewey made his way up the steps and unlocked the door, gesturing for Gale to go inside first. He always tried his best to be polite to Gale. He still couldn't believe someone like her even gave him the time of day. Every moment he was with her, so long as she wasn't offending him with her insensitivity, he felt like he had won the lottery. Sometimes he even when she was being insensitive. He just loved her so much, flaws included.

"I guess I'm going to be wearing more of your clothes again," Gale sighed as she walked through his front door and stood in the hall, "I packed so many cute outfits, and all for nothing. I always end up wearing some old t-shirt that doesn't even fit me."

Dewey smiled at her as she pouted, "you look even cuter in my clothes," he grinned. He loved seeing her in his favorite shirts.

He saw that Gale smiled as well. She enjoyed being dressed professionally, in heals, mini skirts, blazers, and all that sort of stuff, but she had to appreciate wearing something comfortable for once, whether she admitted it or not.

"I don't know if I have any shoes that are gonna fit you," he noted as he made his way into his bedroom. Gale followed behind him. He still wasn't sure why she hadn't been wearing shoes when he arrived at the motel, "where are your shoes, anyway?"

"I had taken them off in my room. I heard that noise and planned on just going outside for a second. Then I got locked out and things turned pretty serious from there," Gale explained.

"Well, I could let you wear some of my tennis shoes, but I think they're going to be a few sizes too big," Dewey shrugged as he began going through his dresser and looking for something for them to wear. He chose a white t-shirt for himself, and a grey one for Gale. She looked good in grey. Then he looked for some pants, "do you want sweat pants? Or jeans? Pajama pants?"

"I'm not wearing your jeans, Dewey," Gale raised her eyebrows at him, "I'd look ridiculous."

Dewey laughed, "I think you'd look cute," he countered. Of course, to him, she looked beautiful in anything.

"Dewey," Gale spoke from behind him, "Do you have a first aid kit of any kind? The bandage on my arm is soaked. I should probably change it."

"Why didn't you have the paramedic look at it?" Dewey frowned as he turned toward her.

Gale shrugged, "they had more important things to do."

"Follow me," he instructed as he made his way toward the bathroom and began rummaging through the cabinet over the sink, "go ahead and sit down and I'll help you with this," he offered as he found a first aid kit which he hadn't ever used up until now. He took a bandage and a roll of gauze out of the kit and turned toward Gale, who had sat down on the edge of the bathtub.

Dewey paused as Gale pulled her shirt up over her head and tossed it in the hamper, "I might throw my bra and underwear in your dryer for a minute before we head to the hospital. I doubt you have any bras for me to borrow," she commented with an arched eyebrow.

Dewey almost wanted to stop himself from looking at her. He wasn't sure why he was always so nervous around the reporter. She was certainly not shy around him. He breathed in a calming breath and reached for the gauze wrapped around Gale's arm, untangling it and looking at the injury underneath.

"It looks a little better than yesterday," Gale commented, "like it's healing, anyway. Hopefully it doesn't leave a scar."

"Does it hurt?" Dewey frowned, "I could get you some aspirin or something."

"It's fine, Dewey," Gale smiled up at him as he replaced the bandage and wrapped gauze carefully around her arm, "thank you."

Dewey nodded and let his eyes briefly wander over her exposed skin. He frowned when he noticed bruises up and down her arms, and that frown persisted as he examined her further. Up until now, everything had been so hectic that he hadn't really had a chance to assess her injuries. She had finger-shaped bruises around her neck and a bruise forming on her cheek as well.

Gale furrowed her eyebrows as she must have noticed the concern on his face, "what's wrong?" she wondered.

Dewey reached up and gently brushed his fingertips over the bruise under her eye, "I'm sorry he hurt you," he frowned.

Gale pouted and he could see tears welling up in her eyes, "I'm sorry he hurt you too," she reached toward his forehead and lightly touched the bandage one of the paramedics back at the motel had put over the cut he had there from when Xavier had hit him.

At that point, Gale looked so vulnerable. Dewey shifted his gaze from her wet eyes down to her pouting lips, "may I kiss you, Gale?" he asked as he looked back up into her eyes.

The reporter's pout immediately formed into a small smile as she nodded.

Dewey put his hands gently on her waist and leaned down until his lips met hers. He kissed her slowly and moved one hand up until it rested on her back. He could feel that he material of her bra was indeed still wet. Her skin was smooth and cool and it felt like goosebumps were rising on up on her flesh. He wasn't sure if that was from the chill air or if she was enjoying his kiss. Either way, he probably needed to get her to put on something dry before she got sick. As much as he would have liked to kiss her forever, he finally drew back. She looked much happier now as she smiled up at him.

"Thank you for being so forgiving," Gale spoke as she wrapped her arms around him, "I know I'm not always easy to get along with. I've got a temper sometimes, and it's not always easy for me to step back and evaluate things from anyone else's viewpoint."

Dewey wrapped his arms securely around her as well, resting his chin on top of her hair and holding her close, "there's nothing you could do that I wouldn't forgive," Dewey began, "but you've done nothing wrong. This was a hectic, trying time for all of us. Everyone said or did things that they didn't really mean."

"I should have seen it coming. Xavier was much too calm. I should have known he was planning something. No one is that tolerant of me. Not even you put up with that much. You'll at least say something when you think I'm being insensitive," Gale explained.

"You couldn't have known," Dewey frowned. Although he himself felt awfully guilty for having left Gale alone with a man who tried to kill her. Dewey had foolishly put a lot of trust in a man he didn't even know. He had trusted Xavier to keep the person Dewey cared about most in the whole world safe, and Dewey didn't even know him, "I'm sorry I didn't stay with you like we'd promised. I sent you off with the killer without even knowing I was doing it. If he had killed you, I would have never forgiven myself... But he did hurt you, and I feel so bad about that. I told you to stay with him. I thought he would keep you safe. I had no idea he would try to kill you. I knew I should trust no one, but I didn't listen to my own instincts."

He couldn't help but feel an awful feeling in the pit of his stomach when he considered how much time Gale had spent with the killer. No wonder the murderer always seemed so fixated on or around Gale. He was watching her every move. He was angry at her for reporting on and playing the 911 call because his masked voice and part of his motive showed up there and became known to the entire world. It was a big piece of evidence he hadn't counted on anyone ever hearing. And then at the police station, maybe he hadn't killed her just so he could work with her on the news a little more before becoming the 'soul survivor' he so desperately wanted to be. Maybe like Gale had suggested before, he really did want to see her suffer first.

Xavier had had so many opportunities to kill Gale. More than Dewey could even count. She was staying in the room right next to him, in a motel with hardly any people around. Dewey couldn't say what he would have done if Gale had died. He loved her so much. Although he was no stranger to death, he wasn't sure if he could take another loss as huge as the death of Gale would have been. Losing Tatum was excruciating. He couldn't handle something like that again.

"Everything's okay now," Gale spoke in a soft voice, bringing Dewey out of his troubling thoughts.

"Yeah, it is," Dewey agreed as he wrapped his arms more snugly around her. He supposed there was no use dwelling on who had made poor choices and who had unknowingly trusted the wrong people at the worst times. There was no way anyone could have known that Xavier was the murderer. Gale certainly didn't know. She never would have gone off with him alone, and Dewey certainly wouldn't have advised her to. This whole thing was no one's fault but Xavier's.

Feeling guilty was simply not reasonable. That didn't mean those dreadful 'what-if' feelings were just going to vanish out of Dewey's mind. The anxiousness he felt in knowing that Gale had unknowingly spent so much time with the killer over the past few days was probably going to stay with him for a while. But what mattered most was that she was okay. This was all over, and Gale was alright. He couldn't ask for much more than that.

xxxxxx


	25. Let's Hope There's No Sequel

xxxxxx

Gale stared at the wall, at a very ugly framed picture of a flower as she sat on a stiff couch in the waiting room of the hospital. Her legs were drawn up next to her and she leaned against Dewey who had his arm wrapped around her shoulders. For the first time in hours, she was dry, and felt warm and safe.

A few feet away, Sidney sat in a chair that was next to the couch. She flipped through a magazine much too quickly for her to actually be reading it. She seemed nervous. The three of them were waiting to hear news about both Randy and Cotton's conditions. They knew Randy would most definitely be fine. He had been completely capable of moving around along with the rest of them for several minutes after having been shot. His wound was clearly not as serious at Cotton's. Cotton seemed to have been hit right in the chest, which could easily result in death.

The last they had heard though, Cotton was in fair condition. The bullet had narrowly missed everything important and had gone clean through him. It seemed like he would recover just fine over time. Of course, anything could still happen, but for now, his condition seemed favorable. They still hadn't been allowed to see him though, as he was likely still being worked on by the doctors.

When they were allowed to see him, Gale was going to be sure to let him know how much they appreciated him going up on that roof and trying to keep the others safe. Cotton had been very heroic in that moment, and though it hadn't worked out how they hoped it would, it was the most heroic gesture she had ever seen from him. So many people thought Cotton was a strange, questionable person, but he was nothing like that at all. He was perhaps the most misunderstood person Gale had ever met. People saw him, and they saw a murderer, even after he had been proven innocent. No one understood the man. She could relate to that. Gale was not exactly a hero, but she wasn't the monster some people seemed to see when they looked at her.

After the three of them had given very simple statements to the police at the crime scene, the sheriff had agreed that they could all accompany their friends to the hospital before giving their more in-depth official statements later. Since the killer was dead now, it didn't seem like such an emergency to get everything down on paper. They also still needed to talk to Randy and Cotton, who had more pressing matters to deal with first.

Gale cuddled closer to Dewey. She was so glad he was alright. He had been so reckless to his own well-being when he tackled Xavier and told the others to run. It was noble and brave of him, and it was fairly likely that things may have gone down entirely differently if he hadn't made that move when he did, but if Jones hadn't shown up immediately after, Dewey would be dead. Gale would certainly be too. Sidney and Randy probably would have come back to try to help them, and then they would have been killed as well. Their survival tonight had been largely thanks to a whole lot of good timing, and even more luck. It would have been so easy for things to have ended in much more bloodshed and death.

As much as Gale didn't want to give the man credit, it seemed Sheriff Jones had saved them all. Dewey's heroic move may have kept everyone alive for a minute longer, but without Jones, they would have been killed anyway.

She looked up toward Dewey, who wore a small bandage on his forehead where Xavier had hit him. A bruise was forming under that bandage. That must have hurt a lot. Gale frowned, "are you still feeling okay?" she wondered, "you could have a concussion."

Dewey smiled down at her, "I'm better than ever, Gale," he reached over and brushed some hair behind her ear, "I'm just really glad you're okay. I don't know what I'd do without you."

Gale felt her lip tremble slightly, "let me know if you feel dizzy or anything," she averted her eyes, instead choosing to stare across the room at a potted plant. She could not get all sappy with him, even if she did want to wrap him in a hug and cry tears of joy at simply being here with him right now. She loved him too, and was so grateful that he hadn't been killed tonight. But she didn't need to cry over it right here in front of Sidney or in front of the various other people who occupied this room. She wasn't the sort of person to display emotions openly like that, especially not in public.

She looked over toward Sidney, who had by now made it to the end of the magazine she had been flipping though. Sidney sighed and put the magazine down on the table next to her before staring toward the room's door and nervously shaking her foot.

"Sidney," Gale called out to her. The younger woman looked up, "Randy's going to be fine," the reporter promised.

"I know," Sidney forced a small smile but then frowned again, "this has just been a really long, really stressful, really awful weekend."

Gale frowned as well. No matter what, all the people who had been killed were still gone, and all because Xavier wanted his fifteen minutes of fame. Sidney's father was dead. Nothing could change that. And he had only been killed earlier today. So much had happened since then, but the news was still fresh. Sidney had a father this morning, and now she didn't.

"Why don't you come sit over here with us?" Dewey suggested, as he patted the seat next to him, "there's plenty of room."

Sidney hesitated, "alright," she finally agreed. She took the spot on the other side of Dewey, who wrapped his arm around her shoulders.

Gale glanced past Dewey and at Sidney, "I know this really sucks right now, Sidney," she frowned, "but you're going to get through it. And I know that you know that... You don't need me telling you to be strong or reassuring you that the pain will become less intense as time goes by..."

"I know, Gale," Sidney glanced toward the reporter, "I'm no stranger to death. And I get what you're saying. This sucks. It really, really sucks. But in time, I'll get used to it. That's how it was with my mom, and with Tatum... and that's how it will be with my dad. It's a reality, whether I like it or not. It'll get easier over time."

"We'll be here for you, Sidney," Gale promised, and she meant it, "my cell phone is sort of part of a crime scene right now, but I'll get another one, and you can call me any time."

"Thanks, Gale," Sidney smiled.

The three of them looked up when a staff member from the hospital made her way into the room, "Meeks family?" she looked toward the three of them on the couch and then over at Randy's parents, "You can come back and see him now. Is it just the five of you?"

Gale looked toward Randy's parents. She didn't want to speak for Randy's family. Maybe having Gale there wouldn't be appropriate. She liked Randy just fine, and definitely wanted him to be okay, but they were never exactly friends.

"Yes, it's just the five of us," Randy's mother spoke up. She had tears in her voice. Gale frowned. The poor woman had lost her daughter just a few days ago, and now her son had been shot.

"Alright. Right this way," she led them through some double doors and down a series of hallways until they reached Randy's room.

Randy's parents immediately rushed toward him. His mother hugged him while his father made some comment about his injury and about Randy being tough as nails. Randy laughed.

Gale smiled. It was nice to see Randy looking happy.

As soon as his parents had gotten their overwhelmed joy out of their systems, they stepped back long enough for Sidney to give Randy a quick hug, "I'm glad you're okay," she spoke to him.

"I'm glad you guys are too," Randy looked at Sidney and back toward Dewey and Gale, "mom, dad. Did I tell you that Dewey and Gale sort of saved me and Sid?"

Gale frowned. She didn't really save him. That was all Dewey.

Randy's parents glanced over toward them for a moment before focusing back on their son, "really?" his mother spoke.

"Sure," Randy smiled, "All four of us were probably about to be killed," he began, causing his mother to wince, "sorry, mom, but it's true. We were about to be shot, but then Dewey tackled the guy and told us to run. I guess we were kind of in shock, but then Gale told us to run too, and she stayed behind to help Dewey while Sid and I got away."

His mother turned toward Gale and Dewey, "thank you both so much. You have no idea how thankful I am."

Dewey smiled, "No problem. I was just trying to do my duty as an officer of the law. Protect and serve."

Gale forced a smile, "it was really Dewey who kept him safe. I was just kind of there..."

"You could have run too, Gale," Sidney reminded her, "but you didn't. You stayed behind to help Dewey, which meant you stayed behind to stop the killer from hurting anyone else."

Gale didn't argue, but she still felt she was being given more credit than she deserved. She stayed behind to help Dewey, not anyone else. Dewey was the one who took action. Gale just stayed with him. She hadn't tackled Xavier. She hadn't told Sidney and Randy to run - not until Dewey already had.

Dewey must have been able to see her thoughts on her face, because he put his arm around her shoulders and squeezed her in a half-hug, "you certainly saved me," he reminded her, "you knew Xavier was going to kill whoever was left behind. That meant that if Jones hadn't shown up, I would have died either way. But you stayed behind to make sure I didn't drown. I was likely going to be shot either way, but you stayed."

"Thank you both for taking care of our son," Randy's dad spoke up. He then looked back toward Randy, "maybe if you ever decide to go after a murderer again, tell us first?" he suggested.

Randy laughed, "It was pretty complicated, dad."

"What matters now is that we're all okay. Everything worked out," Sidney reminded them.

"Sidney, you're still welcome to stay at our house tonight," Randy's mom put her hand on Sidney's arm, "they're probably going to keep Randy here overnight, but you're always welcome at our home."

Sidney smiled, "thank you."

They all turned their focus back to Randy, who was now describing the feeling in his arm to his dad, "it throbbed so much. Getting shot is totally not cool. But I didn't even know I had been hit at first. Everything was so hectic, and I just couldn't believe it. But they gave me lots of pain killers. I can barely even feel it now. I bet I'll have one hell of a scar later."

"Oh, Randy," his mother frowned, "I hope not..."

"No, mom. It's cool," Randy countered, "it's a gun shot wound. Not everyone gets a scar like that. If this were a movie, do you think they'd give just anyone a gunshot and still let them live to have an awesome scar? No. Only the coolest guys get shot and live. If there were a sequel - which I hope there won't be," his eyes grew large, "I might be the coolest character in it. If you live through the first two, you'll probably live forever. He glanced back at Gale and Dewey and then over to Sidney, "right?"

"Let's hope we don't have to find out," Sidney laughed.

xxxxxx

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A note I wrote in my original publication that I feel is still very relevant: 
> 
> "Cotton survives, by the way. I just didn't think another chapter after this one would be appropriate. The excitement of the story is done and I've already gone a full three chapters after the killer died. I think it's time to wrap this up, and unfortunately, having a scene with Cotton at this point just isn't logical. There's no way they'd be allowed to talk to Cotton, who had a chest wound, before talking to Randy, who was shot in the arm. This seemed like a good place to end the story, so it ends here. Cotton is okay though. He will just have a lot of recovering to do. They didn't tell us for sure that Dewey would actually survive at the end of Scream and Scream 2. We just assumed him not being dead immediately meant he'd live, and that's what it means for Cotton here. If you're gonna die in a Scream movie, it will be made very clear that you are dead."
> 
> Stay tuned for my sequel. :)


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